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SPECIMENS 


OF 


FOREIGN  STANDARD  LITERATURE. 


VOL.  v. 


SPECIMENS 


FOREIGN  STANDARD  LITERATURE. 

EDITED 

BY   GEORGE   RIPLEY. 


VOL.  V. 

CONTAINING 

INTRODUCTION    TO    ETHICS, 

FROM   THE   FRENCH 
OF 

JOUFFROY. 


BOSTON: 
HILLIARD,  GRAY,  AND   COMPANY. 


M.DCCC.XLI. 


As  wine  and  oil  are  imported  to  us  from  abroad,  so  must  ripe 
understanding,  and  many  civil  virtues,  be  imported  into  our 
minds  from  foreign  writings; — .we  shall  else  miscarry  still,  and 
come  short  in  the  attempts  of  any  great  enterprise. 

MILTON,  History  of  Britain,  Book  IIL 


If  \'  \\  I. 

f/i;ilTr:r;!Tv  fir 


INTRODUCTION 


ETHICS, 


INCLUDING    A 


CRITICAL   SURVEY    OF  MORAL   SYSTEMS, 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 
OF 

T.      JOUFFROY. 
BY   WILLIAM   H.    CHANNING. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


BOSTON: 
HILL1ARD,  GRAY,  AND   COMPANY. 


M.DCCC.XLI. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1840, 

By  BILLIARD,  GRAY,  AND  Co. 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED  AT  THE 
BOSTON  TYPE  AND  STEREOTYPE  FOUNDRY. 


no 


f  I  f;  U  [  v 


TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 


THE  lectures,  of  which  a  translation  is  now  pre- 
sented, are  the  first  which  Jouffroy,  who  is  professor 
in  the  Faculty  of  Literature  at  Paris,  has  published. 
Induced  by  an  earnest  request  from  those  who  had 
attended  his  previous  courses,  that  his  interesting 
instructions  should  be  preserved  in  a  permanent 
form,  he  consented  to  have  his  extemporary  addresses 
taken  down  by  a  stenographer,  and  afterwards  re- 
vised and  corrected  them.  Their  design  may  be 
best  explained  by  the  following  extract  from  the 
author's  preface :  — 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that,  in  the  progressive  devel- 
opment of  my  ideas  upon  the  grand  problem  of 
human  destiny,  those  upon  ethics  could  most  readily 
be  separated  from  the  rest ;  and  I  was  influenced  by 
this  additional  consideration,  that  it  was  my  purpose 


Vlii  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

before  entering  upon  the  science  of  ethics,  to  pass  in 
review  the  various  systems  which  had  prevailed  in 
relation  to  the  fundamental  principles  of  morality. 
This  would  give  me  an  opportunity  to  explain  my 
own  system,  and  thus  sum  up  the  results  of  my 
previous  researches. 

"  Feeling  uncertain  whether  I  shall  be  able  to 
complete  my  plan,  I  shall  subdivide  my  series  of 
lectures  into  several  parts,  of  which  each  will  form 
a  separate  work.  The  First,  under  the  title  of 
an  Introduction  to  Ethics,  will  be  devoted  to  a 
consideration  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  moral 
science,  and  will  include,  beside  my  own  views,  a 
review  and  criticism  of  all  the  important  solutions 
which  have  been  given  of  these  problems.  The 
Second,  under  the  title  of  Personal  Ethics,  will 
contain  a  system  of  the  duties  which  a  man  owes 
to  himself.  The  Third,  under  the  title  of  Actual 
•Ethics,  will  explain  the  principles  of  conduct  by 
which  man  should  be  governed  in  his  relations  to 
things.  The  Fourth,  under  the  title  of  Social 
Ethics,  will  embrace  the  science  of  rights  and 
duties  arising  from  the  various  relations  in  which 
man  stands  to  man.  The'  Fifth,  and  last,  under 
the  title  of  Natural  Religion,  will  have  for  its  sub- 


!;  F:7  r  V 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  IX 

ject  the  relations  of  man  toward  God,  and  a  deter- 
mination of  the  duties  thence  resulting." 

These  volumes  contain  a  part  of  the  work  first 
mentioned,  an  "Introduction  to  Ethics,"  and  consist 
of  a  critical  review  of  various  ethical  systems.  Pre- 
liminary to  this  survey  is  a  lecture  describing  the 
results  already  attained  by  previous  investigations, 
and  two  other  lectures  upon  the  facts  of  man's  moral 
nature,  from  which  some  notion  may  be  formed  of 
Jouffroy's  own  theory,  though  it  would  be  prema- 
ture to  discuss  it,  before  a  full  exposition  of  it  is 
given  in  a  third  volume,  soon  to  be  published.  All 
that  can  now  with  certainty  be  said  of  this  system 
is,  that  it  is  based  upon  scrupulous  psychological 
observation,  and  therefore  that  it  must  contain  much 
to  interest  and  instruct,  even  if  it  fails  to  be  an  ade- 
quate representation  of  human  nature.  For  though 
there  is  an  element  of  the  mysterious  and  infinite, 
pervading  the  spirit  of  man,  and  influencing  all  its 
operations,  which  no  analysis  can  enable  us  to  com- 
prehend, yet  the  suggestions  of  every  careful  student 
of  consciousness  are  a  most  important  aid  to  those 
who  seek  self-knowledge.  We  may  feel  sure,  too, 
that  this  theory  will  be  developed  with  the  singu- 
larly lucid  method  which  characterizes  the  other 


X  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

writings  of  this  philosopher,  and  expressed  in  a  style 
so  transparent,  as  often  to  hide  from  a  superficial 
eye  the  profoundness  of  the  thought.  Of  the 
ethical  system,  partially  unfolded  in  these  volumes,, 
this,  then,  is  not  the  occasion  to  speak. 

But  an  expression  of  the  admiration  justly  due 
to  these  lectures,  as  criticisms,  should  not  be  with- 
held. From  the  facts  of  human  nature,  which  he 
describes,  as  his  point  of  view,  Jouffroy  takes  a 
rapid  yet  comprehensive  survey  of  all  ethical  sys- 
tems, distinguishes  and  classifies  them  with  great  dis- 
crimination, and  then  proceeds  to  discuss,  in  order, 
the  theories,  which  seem  to  him  most  clearly  to 
manifest  the  essential  principle  of  their  respective 
classes.  It  may  add  new  interest  to  these  volumes 
in  the  eyes  of  English  scholars,  that,  in  almost  every 
instance,  a  selection  has  been  made  from  the  works 
of  authors,  by  the  spirit  of  whose  writings  the  moral 
atmosphere  of  England  and  of  our  own  country  is 
pervaded.  The  sagacity  with  which  this  critic  pene- 
trates to  the  very  essence  of  these  systems,  and  the 
iairness  with  which  he  recognizes  their  claims  to 
respect,  do  equal  honor  to  his  head  and  heart. 
Most  readers  of  these  lectures  will  probably  admit, 
that  they  had  never  rightly  understood  the  principles 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  xi 

of  Hobbes,  of  Bentham,  of  Smith,  and  of  Price, 
nor  comprehended  the  consequences  to  which  they 
necessarily  tend,  until  they  had  seen  them  illumi- 
nated by  the  analysis  of  this  clear  and  candid 
Frenchman.  The  two  lectures  upon  Spinoza  are 
entitled  to  especial  praise,  as  well  for  the  lucidness 
of  the  descriptions  and  reasonings,  as  for  the  humility 
with  which  so  deep-read  a  scholar  confesses  his 
inability  perfectly  to  comprehend,  and  his  incompe- 
tency  to  pass  judgment  upon  this  most  abstract  of 
all  systems.  To  those  who  believe  that  every  con 
scientious  seeker  discovers  some  elements  of  truth, 
while  the  whole  is  not  revealed  even  to  the  largest 
minded,  such  an  historical  review  of  opinions,  as  is 
here  given,  must  be  invaluable. 

Here  this  preface  might  with  propriety  be  closed* 
But  such  gross  misconceptions,  as  to  the  character 
of  modern  French  philosophy,  still  prevail  among  us, 
notwithstanding  the  full  expositions  which  have  been 
laid  before  the  public,  that  it  seems  unjust  to  let 
any  opportunity  pass  unused  of  making  known  the 
true  position  which  the  writers  of  this  school  occupy. 
This  will  now  be  attempted  by  simply  restating,  as 
briefly  and  clearly  as  possible,  what  has  often  been 
said  at  greater  length. 

b 


Xll  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

Within  little  more  than  half  a  century,  the  world 
has  witnessed  the  rise  of  three  distinct  schools  of 
philosophy  —  the  Scottish,  the  German,  and  the 
French.  The  characteristic  principle  of  the  Scottish 
school,  which  .  originated  in  1763  with  Reid,  is  a 
rigorous  application  of  the  inductive  method  to 
the  science  of  mind.  This  Locke  had  previously 
attempted,  but,  preoccupied  with  his  theory,  that  all 
ideas  are  derived  from  sensation  and  reflection,  he 
made  the  monstrous  oversight  of  excluding  the  most 
vital  of  all  ideas  —  the  first  truths,  communicated 
spontaneously  by  reason.  The  necessary  result 
of  Locke's  system  was  the  skepticism  of  Hume. 
Appalled  by  this  consequence,  Reid  was  led  to 
detect  the  fallacy  of  the  modes  of  investigation,  still 
employed  by  philosophers,  and,  discarding  hypoth- 
esis, to  adopt  psychological  observation  as  the  only 
true  method  in  intellectual  and  moral  science.  By 
this  rule  the  Scottish  school  has  been  scrupulously 
governed ;  and  though  it  must  be  admitted  that  their 
observations  have  been  hasty,  partial,  and  confused, 
and  that  their  inductions  have  been  careless  and 
incomplete,  yet  the  world  owes  a  large  debt  of 
gratitude  to  these  writers,  for  their  clear  elucidation 
of  the  primary  importance  of  psychology. 


TBANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  Xlll 

The  German  school  took  its  rise  from  the  writings 
of  Kant,  in  1781.  Kant,  like  Reid,  was  impelled 
to  enter  upon  the  profound  researches  which  will 
immortalize  his  name,  by  perceiving  that  the  con- 
sequences, which  Hume  had  deduced  from  the 
principle,  that  experience  is  the  only  source  of  ideas, 
were  strictly  logical.  With  powers  of  reflection 
far  surpassing  those  of  any  Scottish  writer,  he 
applied  himself  to  the  work  of  analyzing  the 
elements  of  the  human  mind ;  and  succeeded  in 
demonstrating,  what  Reid  had  assumed,  that  intui- 
tive reason  suggests  primary  ideas,  which,  though 
first  recognized  on  the  occasion  of  some  experience, 
cannot  be  derived  from  it,  inasmuch  as  they  enter 
into  the  very  act  of  the  mind,  by  which  this 
experience  is  received.  By  the  psychological 
information,  which  he  communicated,  Kant  has 
conferred  a  lasting  benefit  upon  his  race,  and 
substituted  spiritualism  in  place  of  sensualism  for- 
ever. But  Kant  did  not  stop  here.  Under  the 
influence  of  the  philosophy  of  Descartes,  the  whole 
energies  of  his  mind  were  directed  towards  ascer- 
taining the  certainty  of  human  knowledge;  and  in 
the  solution  of  this  problem  he  was  brought  to  the 
adoption  of  a  system  of  skepticism  far  deeper 
than  that  of  Hume's,  which  he  had  refuted.  His 


Xiv  TRANSLATORS    PREFACE. 

assertion,  that  we  have  no  means  of  proving  the 
existence  of  objective  realities,  corresponding  to  our 
subjective  ideas,  determined  the  movement  and  char- 
acter of  the  German  school.  The  original  thinkers, 
who  have  succeeded  Kant,  have  turned  their  attention 
almost  exclusively  to  logical  and  ontological  ques- 
tions. A  later  age  may  pronounce  the  methods  they 
have  pursued  delusive,  and  distrust  the  results  at 
which  they  have  arrived ;  but  it  will  also  probably 
acknowledge,  with  respect,  that  these  eloquent  writers 
have  awakened  a  new  reverence  for  the  human  spirit, 
and  communicated  to  the  minds  of  their  own  and 
other  lands,  fresh  vigor,  by  the  freedom  of  thought, 
and  depth  of  sentiment,  with  which  their  works  are 
inspired. 

While  the  Scottish  school  has  thus  been  absorbed 
by  psychology,  and  the  German  school  by  ontology 
and  logic,  the  French  school,  which  is  their  suc- 
cessor, has  imbibed,  in  some  degree,  the  principles 
of  each,  and  blended  them  with  a  method  of  its 
own.  It  may  be  said  to  have  commenced,  in  1811, 
with  the  attempts  of  Maine  de  Biran  and  Royer- 
Collard  to  overthrow  the  systems  of  sensualism  and 
skepticism,  which  had  so  fatally  taken  possession  of 
the  French  mind.  The  efforts  of  these  philosophers 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  XV 

introduced  a  profounder  study  of  facts,  an  acquaint^ 
ance  with  the  writings  of  the  Scottish  school,  and  a 
stricter  application  of  the  inductive  method.  They 
began  the  work  of  reform.  But  it  is  to  Victor 
Cousin  that  the  French  school  is  indebted  for  the 
wide  celebrity,  which  it  enjoys  throughout  continental 
Europe ;  and  for  the  influence  which  it  is  beginning 
to  acquire  in  England  and  in  this  country.  The 
clear  analysis,  the  rigorous  inductions,  the  extensive 
scholarship,  and  brilliant  eloquence  of  this  admirable 
lecturer  and  writer,  have  secured  him  a  sway  over 
the  thoughtful  minds  of  his  own  nation,  which 
promises  to  substitute  rational  faith  for  unbelief,  and 
generous  principles  of  private  and  political  conduct 
for  the  maxims  of  .selfishness.  This  movement 
Jouffroy  is  well  fitted  to  advance,  from  his  habit 
of  patient  observation,  his  liberal  spirit,  and  perfect 
simplicity  of  method  and  of  style. 

The  leading  principles  of  the  French  school  are 
three. 

I.  PSYCHOLOGY  is  THE  BASIS  OF  PHILOSOPHY, 
The  facts  of  human  nature,  recognized  by  con-? 
sciousness,  are  the  only  foundation  for  metaphysical 
or  moral  science.  Neglect  of  observation  leads 


XVI  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

to  useless  hypotheses.  Erroneous  observation  gives 
rise  to  systems  false  in  principle  and  fatal  in  their 
consequences.  Thorough  acquaintance  with  the  fun- 
damental laws  of  our  minds  is  of  indispensable 
importance.  The  first  qualification  of  the  philoso- 
pher, therefore,  is  the  power  of  profound  reflection. 
Though  indebted  in  part  for  this  principle  to  Reid 
and  Stewart,  the  writers  of  the  French  school  have 
comprehended  it  more  distinctly,  and  applied  it  more 
strictly,  than  their  teachers,  and  have  arrived  at 
results  more  definite  and  complete  than  theirs.  As 
psychologists,  Cousin  and  Joufixoy  have  never  been 
surpassed. 

II.     THE    HTGHEST    PROBLEMS    OF    ONTOLOGY     MAY 
BE    SOLVED    BY    INDUCTIONS    FROM    THE    FACTS   WHICH 

PSYCHOLOGY  ASCERTAINS.  We  are  not  limited  to  a 
simple  acquaintance  with  our  own  consciousness ;  but 
by  reasoning  upon  our  ideas,  and  the  phenomena 
which  experience  brings  before  us,  we  may  rise  to 
a  knowledge  of  the  Infinite  Being.  Though  the 
influence  of  the  German  school  may  here  be  recog- 
nized, the  two  methods  are,  in  fact,  directly  opposite. 
The  Germans  begin  with  the  absolute,  and  descend 
to  man  ,  the  French  begin  with  man,  and  ascend  to 
the  absolute.  With  regard  to  this  principle,  it  may 


TRANSLATOR  S  PREFACE.  XV11 

be  remarked,  in  relation  to  JoufTroy,  that  he  has 
imbibed  the  caution  of  the  Scottish  philosophers ; 
while  Cousin,  in  his  bolder  generalizations,  shows 
more  affinity  with  the  writers  of  Germany. 

III.    PSYCHOLOGY  AND  THE  HISTORY  OF  PHILOS- 
OPHY   RECIPROCALLY    EXPLAIN    EACH    OTHER.         This 

is  the  principle,  which,  being  more  peculiarly  charac- 
teristic of  the  French  school,  has  given  the  system 
its  distinctive  name  of  Eclecticism.  The  principle 
is  a  most  simple  and  rational  one,  though  it  has  been 
most  strangely  misunderstood.  Eclecticism  means 
exactly  the  contrary  of  a  commingling  of  heteroge- 
neous systems;  being  intended  to  designate  a  dis- 
criminating selection  of  the  elements  of  truth  which 
may  be  found  in  each  system.  It  may  be  thus 
explained :  Philosophical  opinions  and  popular  be- 
liefs must  correspond  to  some  essential  principles  of 
human  nature,  or  else  they  would  never  have 
appeared,  nor  awakened  sympathy.  Were  the 
various  doctrines,  in  which  men  have  believed, 
accurately  analyzed,  we  should  have  a  complete 
icpresentation  of  man's  spirit.  The  creeds  of  men 
have  grown  out  of  some  primary  law  of  their  minds. 
There  is  a  portion  of  truth,  then,  in  every  system 
of  opinion  and  of  faith.  But  how  shall  we  detect 


XV111  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

this,  and  separate  it  from  the  errors  with  which  it 
is  combined?  Only  by  a  knowledge  of  the  funda- 
mental faculties  and  tendencies  of  our  nature.  This 
psychology  alone  can  give.  Psychology  enables  us 
to  recognize  in  any  system  the  element  of  our 
spiritual  being  which  it  imbodies.  Thus  the  facts 
which  we  observe  in  human  nature  enable  us  to 
explain,  to  criticise,  and  judge,  the  theories  which 
the  history  of  philosophy  describes.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  our  psychology  may  be  defective.  How 
shall  we  test  it?  By  its  adequacy  to  account  for 
the  opinions  which  men  have  professed.  If  we 
meet  with  systems  which  we  cannot  explain,  our 
observations  have  been  partial,  our  psychology  is 
incomplete,  and  we  must  resume  our  study  of  the 
facts  of  consciousness. 

The  following  lectures  afford  a  perfect  illustra- 
tion of  the  manner  in  which  these  principles  of  the 
French  school  should  be  applied. 

This  hasty  description  may  be  sufficient  to  show 
that  the  writers  of  the  French  school  are,  at  least, 
safe  guides  in  philosophical  investigations.  The 
love  of  truth  and  liberality,  which  breathe  through 
their  works,  are  the  best  antidote  for  whatever  errors 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  XIX 

they  may  teach.  A  familiar  acquaintance  with  them 
can  tend  only  to  make  us  conscientious  observers, 
strict  reasoners,  candid  critics,  and  thorough  scholars. 
And  now  to  all  fellow-students  of  philosophy  these 
lectures  are  presented,  with  the  sincere  hope  that 
they  may  derive  from  their  perusal  the  instruction 
and  pleasure,  which  have  amply  repaid  the  labor 
of  the  translator. 

CINCINNATI,  December  23,  1839. 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME   FIRST, 


LECTURE  I. 


Page. 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE 3 

LECTURE  II. 
THE    FACTS    OF    MAN  S    MORAL    NATURE 24 

LECTURE  HI. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED 57 

LECTURE  IV. 
SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.       . 83 

LECTURE  V. 
SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM 115 

LECTURE   VI. 
SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM. SPINOZA 145 

LECTURE  VII. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED 175 


XX11  CONTENTS    OF    VOLUME    FIRST. 

LECTURE  VIII.  Ptrs% 

SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM. 200 

LECTURE  IX. 
REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM 221 

LECTURE  X. 
THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          .'.....      248 

LECTURE  XI. 
THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES 279 

LECTURE  XII. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED.  305 


JOUFFROY. 


JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE   I. 

Is     '    ;''   ;'    r         •-•(!<•     •'•:,'' 

OBJECT  AND   DIVISION  OP  ETHICAL  SCIENCE. 

'  -'*•• 

GENTLEMEN, 

THE  inquiry,  to  which  our  attention  will  be 
directed  during  the  present  course  cf  lectures,  forms 
but  one  chapter  of  that  more  general  inquiry,  which 
has  been  the  subject  of  my  instructions  from  this  chair 
for  the  last  three  years.  It  at  once  presupposes  the 
preceding  courses,  and  prepares  the  way  for  those 
which  are  to  follow.  Before  describing,  therefore,  the 
precise  subject  to  which  our  attention  will  now  be 
particularly  directed,  it  may  be  well  to  reconsider  the 
grand  problem  that  for  three  years  past  has  occupied 
us;  to  review  briefly  such  portions  .of  it  as  we  have 
thus  far  discussed;  and  then  to  set  clearly  before 
our  minds  the  part  that  now  presents  itself,  according 
to  the  general  plan  which  we  had  marked  out.  This 
rapid  review  will  not  be  unprofitable  to  those  who  have 
attended  the  previous  courses,  and  it  will  be  absolutely 
necessary  for  all  who  have  not. 

Human  destiny,  regarded  in  its  threefold  aspect,  — 


JOUFVROY. 


as  embracing  the  destiny  of  individuals,  the  destiny 
of  communities,  and  the  destiny  of  the  race,  —  this, 
gentlemen,  is  the  problem,  to  the  solution  of  which 
my  instructions  have  been  devoted.  When  I  first  pre- 
sented it  to  your  consideration,  I  endeavored  not  only 
to  make  you  feel  how  obscure  and  yet  how  important 
a  problem  it  is,  but  also,  by  a  severe  analysis,  to 
resolve  it  into  the  several  questions  which  it  includes. 
Having  separated  and  disengaged  these  elementary 
problems,  I  then  showed  their  connection  with  each 
other,  and  the  logical  order  in  which  they  should  be 
discussed.  And  thus,  having  settled  precisely  the 
divisions  of  this  vast  inquiry,  and  the  method  to  be 
followed  in  its  pursuit,  we  began  our  labors,  taking 
up  first  the  particular  question  that,  according  to  the 
plan  we  had  marked  out,  came  first  in  order. 

This  question  was  as  follows :  What  is  the  destiny 
of  man  in  the  present  life?  The  connection  between 
the  destiny  of  a  being  and  his  nature,  is,  as  you  well 
know,  most  intimate.  Indeed,  the  different  destinies 
of  different  beings  are  determined  wholly  by  their 
natures.  If  all  beings  had  the  same  nature,  their  destiny 
would  be  the  same.  It  is  to  the  nature  of  a  being, 
therefore,  that  we  must  look,  when  we  would  learn 
his  destiny ;  for  it  is  this  which  imposes  it  upon  him, 
and  from  this  it  results  as  necessarily  as  a  consequence 
from  a  principle,  or  an  effect  from  a  cause.  We  have 
applied  this  method,  dictated  as  it  is  by  good  sense, 
to  man,  and,  from  the  examination  of  his  nature,  we 
have  inferred  his  absolute  and  final  end.  But,  in 
comparing  this  final  end  of  man  with  that  to  which 
he  actually  attains  in  this  life,  we  have  been  struck 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.  5 

with  a  fact,  which  has  proved  to  us,  that,  in  order  to 
determine  what  is  his  end  upon  earth,  we  must  have 
regard  to  something  beside  his  nature  This  fact  is 
the  difference  between  the  destiny  to  which  man 
actually  here  attains,  and  that  which  we  see  traced  in 
plain  characters  upon  his  nature.  We  have  easily 
discovered  the  cause  of  this  difference.  The  circum- 
stances amidst  which  our  nature  is  here  placed,  are 
such  as  to  render  the  completion  of  our  destiny 
impossible.  The  destiny  of  man  on  earth  is  determined 
not  only  by  his  nature,  therefore,  but  by  his  condition 
also.  And,  to  decide  what  it  must  be,  we  should 
consider,  first,  his  nature,  and  then  the  circumstances 
of  his  present  being.  It  has  been  by  examining  the 
resultant,  so  to  speak,  of  these  two  combined  forces, 
that  we  have  arrived  at  a  solution  —  I  trust  a  legiti- 
mate one  —  of  the  question  proposed.  The  first  year 
of  my  instructions  was  devoted  exclusively  to  the  solu- 
tion of  this  problem,  which  is  the  elementary  question 
of  moral  philosophy. 

The  second  question  that  occupied  our  attention 
was  this  :  Is  the  destiny  of  man  wholly  accomplished  in 
this  life  ?  or  did  it  commence  before  birth,  and  will  it 
continue  after  death?  And  no  one,  before  having 
determined  this  question,  however  profound  has  been 
his  study  of  the  present  life,  should  flatter  himself  that 
he  has  a  complete  idea  of  the  destiny  of  man,  or 
even  a  clear  idea  of  his  destiny  here.  There  is  but 
one  mode  of  solving  this  question,  and  it  is  a  sure 
one.  It  is  to  see  whether  human  destiny  has  in  this 
world  a  true  beginning  and  completion,  or  whether 
it  is  rather  a  drama,  whose  prologue  and  catastrophe 

A2 


6  JOUFFROY, 

are  wanting.  It  has  appeared  to  us,  from  examination, 
that  the  actual  destiny  of  man  in  this  life  is  inexpli- 
cable, except  upon  the  supposition  of  a  life  hereafter; 
and  when  we-  have  compared  it,  such  as  it  now  is, 
with  the  destiny  which  seems  necessarily  to  result 
from  his  nature,  we  have  been  convinced  that  his 
destiny  is  not  completed  here :  hence  our  conclusion 
that  another  scene  of  being  is  absolutely  demanded 
to  do  his  nature  justice.  We  have  boldly  asserted, 
therefore,  the  reality  of  this  future  life;  and  we  have 
anticipated  its  character,  by  supposing  that  it  will  be 
especially  adapted  to  the  completion  of  his  destiny. 
Thus  have  we  convinced  ourselves  of  the  necessity 
of  a  life  hereafter,  and  have  decided  what  the  destiny 
of  man  in  that  life  will  be.  The  same  method  applied 
to  the  problem  of  a  life  preceding  the  present  one, 
has  led  us  to  an  opposite  result,  but  one  quite  as 
much  to  be  depended  on.  Indeed,  we  have  satisfied 
ourselves,  that,  although  the  last  acts  of  the  drama 
of  human  destiny  are  not  to  be  performed  on  earth, 
yet  still  it  had  its  true  commencement  here ;  and  that 
there  is  no  necessity,  therefore,  for  supposing,  ante- 
rior to  birth,  a  prologue  to  the  present  life.  Two 
years  were  devoted  to  this  important  inquiry,  which 
forms  one  branch  of  natural  religion. 

Thus  you  see,  gentlemen,  the  manner  in  which 
the  first  three  years  have  been  occupied,  and  the 
result  to  which  we  have  been  led.  At  the  present 
stage  of  the  inquiry,  we  have  completely  solved  — 
according  to  the  measure  of  our  weak  intelligence  — 
the  general  problem  of  the  destiny  of  man.  We  have 
learned  that  this  destiny  is  divided  into  two  parts, 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OP   ETHICAL    SCIENCE.  7 

of  which  the  first  is  accomplished  in  this  life;  while 
the  second  is  to  be  completed  in  one  or  more  future 
scenes  of  being.  We  have  learned  the  exact  point 
to  which  this  work  of  human  development  is  carried 
here,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  will  be  completed 
hereafter;  and  we  have  learned,  further,  the  reason 
why  it  was  necessary  that  it  should  begin  here,  and 
the  necessity  for  its  being  completed,  having  been  once 
begun.  In  a  word,  not  only  have  we  learned  what  is 
the  actual  destiny  of  man  in  this  world,  but  have  seen 
that  this  destiny  —  at  once  so  sad,  yet  happy,  so  grand, 
though  limited  —  is  to  be  justified  and  explained  only 
by  a  foresight  of  such  a  completed  destiny  as  we  have 
been  led  to  contemplate.  Here  is  the  precise  point 
in  our  inquiry  at  which  we  have  arrived ;  and  we  are 
now  to  advance  yet  further. 

The  question  that  next  presents  itself,  according 
to  our  plan,  is  this  :  The  end  to  which  man  is  destined 
being  known,  what  should  be  his  conduct  under  all 
possible  circumstances  1  or,  in  other  words,  What  are 
the  proper  rules  of  human  conduct  1  The  answer  to 
this  question  forms  the  subject  of  the  science  of  ethics. 
And  the  course  of  lectures  of  this  and  several  succeed- 
ing years  will  be  occupied  in  giving  this  answer.  A 
question  so  vast  must  require  many  years  for  its  full 
consideration. 

The  relations  connecting  this  question  with  those 
which  have  before  occupied  our  attention,  and  which 
we  have  now  reviewed,  must  be  evident  to  you  at 
Once.  It  would  be  as  absurd  to  inquire  how  a  being 
should  conduct  himself  whose  end  is  unknown,  as 
to  inquire  what  is  the  end  of  a  being  whose  nature 


8  JOUFFROY. 

is  unknown.  For  the  same  reason,  therefore,  that 
man's  nature  should  be  determined  before  we  inquire 
what  is  his  destiny,  should  the  question  of  his  destiny 
be  solved  before  we  consider  his  duties.  The  question 
that  we  are  now  to  consider  becomes,  therefore,  an 
appropriate  one.  And  now,  having  pointed  out  the 
relations  of  this  question,  and  unfolded  its  meaning, 
let  us  proceed  to  measure  its  extent  and  separate  its 
elements,  and  thence  draw  out  a  proper  plan  for  this 
new  inquiry  upon  which  we  are  about  to  enter,  or, 
if  you  please,  the  chart  for  our  voyage. 

But,  in  the  very  outset,  we  meet  with  a  prejudic^* 
against  the  whole  science  of  ethics,  which  it  is 
neither  philosophical  nor  reasonable  to  pass  by.  Upon 
this  prejudice,  indeed,  are  founded  the  objections 
of  numerous  systems  to  the  science ;  and,  if  these 
objections  do  rest  upon  good  grounds,  the  science 
is  destroyed,  and  the  object  of  our  present  pursuit 
proved  to  be  an  illusion.  The  ideas  of  rules  and 
law,  of  rights  and  duties,  imply  the  idea  of  obligation; 
and  it  is  plain,  that,  if  there  really  is  nothing  obligatory 
for  man  —  if  the  idea  of  obligation  is  but  a  vain 
imagination,  which  the  breath  of  philosophy  dissi- 
pates —  then  all  other  ideas  resting  upon  it  vanish  also, 
and  with  them  the  science  of  ethics,  which  presupposes 
them.  To  seek  for  rules  and  laws  for  human  conduct, 
is  to  seek  for  that  which  man  ought  or  ought  not  to 
do  —  for  that  which  it  is  his  duty  to  accomplish  and 
respect  —  for  that  which  he  has  a  right  to  require 
other  men  to  respect.  Now,  if  he  is  really  bound  by 
no  duties,  and  if  other  men  are  bound  by  none  in 
relation  to  him,  then  are  there  no  rules;  no  laws  of 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.  9 

human  conduct,  to  be  sought ;  and  the  object  of  the 
science  of  ethics  —  the  science  itself —  disappears 
altogether.  It  is,  then,  I  repeat,  a  vital  question  for 
the  science  of  ethics,  whether  there  is  or  is  not  any 
thing  obligatory  for  man.  Many  systems  have  an- 
swered this  question  in  the  negative.  To  describe 
the  different  ways  by  which  they  have  arrived  at  this 
common  conclusion,  would  be  to  anticipate  the  matter 
of  the  subsequent  lectures.  It  is  sufficient  at  present, 
therefore,  to  say  that  there  are  such  systems,  and  that 
they  have  obtained  celebrity  from  the  authority  of  the 
distinguished  men  who  have  been  their  authors.  The 
mere  fact,  however,  that  these  systems  do  call  in  ques- 
tion the  very  foundation  of  those  rules  for  human 
conduct  which  we  propose  to  consider,  is  enough  to 
show  that  we  ought,  before  entering  upon  any  exami- 
nation of  those  rules,  first  to  examine  the  truth  of 
these  systems,  and  to  discuss  the  grounds  of  the 
prejudice  on  which  they  are  based.  We  will,  there- 
fore, gentlemen,  open  the  present  course  of  lectures 
with  this  examination,  and  not  proceed  to  a  considera- 
tion of  the  various  branches  of  human  duty,  until  we 
have  removed  this  prejudice,  and  reassured  ourselves 
that  there  really  is  a  law  of  human  obligation. 

Let  us,  however,  pass,  for  the  present,  to  a  view 
of  the  natural  subdivisions  of  human  duty,  assuming 
for  the  time  that  there  really  is  a  law  of  obligation. 

It  might  be  said  that  there  is,  in  truth,  but  one  duty 
for  man,  which  is,  to  accomplish  his  destiny.  The 
destiny  of  man  being  known,  the  rules  for  his  conduct 
are  known  also.  This  is  true ;  but  equally  true  is  it, 
that  the  relations  in  which  man  is  placed  are  so 


10  JOUFFROY. 

numerous  and  complex,  that  it  is  not  always  easy  to 
see  how  he  should  conduct  in  order  to  accomplish 
this  end.  Hence  it  follows,  that  although  his  chief 
duty  does  comprise  the  principles  and  spirit  of  all 
duties,  yet  it  is  necessary  to  set  these  forth  distinctly. 
To  do  this  requires  deep  meditation  and  great  sagacity ; 
for  the  subject  is  at  once  extensive  and  difficult.  It 
is  the  object  of  the  science  of  ethics  to  determine 
the  rules  for  conduct.  It  begins  with  describing  the 
grand  relations  which  man  sustains,  and  then  passes 
on  to  a  consideration  of  the  various  branches  of  duty 
appropriate  to  each.  Its  great  divisions  correspond 
to  our  grand  relations,  and  its  subdivisions  embrace 
the  rules  of  human  conduct  which  these  different 
relations  impose.  The  science  is  complete,  when  it 
omits  no  relation,  and  describes  every  branch  of  duty. 

It  is  long  since  the  common  sense  of  humanity  has 
declared,  that  man  sustains,  in  this  life,  four  principal 
relations:  the  first,  to  God;  the  second,  to  himself; 
the  third,  to  things,  animate  and  inanimate,  which 
people  the  creation  ;  the  fourth,  to  his  kind.  Through 
all  ages,  therefore,  the  inquiry  has  been,  what  are 
the  rules  for  human  conduct  in  these  four  grand 
relations;  and  the  science  of  ethics  has  been  divided 
into  four  corresponding  branches. 

We  will  preserve  this  division,  because  it  is  legiti- 
mate and  complete,  and  it  would  be  in  vain  to  seek 
a  better.  Such,  then,  are  the  four  grand  inquiries 
embraced  in  the  subject  of  our  present  course,  when 
taken  in  its  full  extent.  But  it  is  not  enough  to 
indicate  merely  this  general  division.  We  must  take 
a  nearer  view  of  the  different  parts,  and  settle  precisely 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        11 

the  object,  extent,  and  proper  name  of  each.  Let 
us  consider,  then,  successively,  these  four  grand 
relations  which  we  have  stated,  and  enter  into  some 
more  detailed  description  of  the  branches  of  ethical 
science  corresponding  to  them. 


FIRST    RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  God. 

One  element,  by  which  our  judgment  as  to  the 
proper  rules  for  human  conduct,  in  each  of  the  four 
grand  relations,  may  be  determined,  is  always  given ; 
I  mean  the  knowledge  of  man's  true  destiny  —  of  his 
final  end.  But  another  element  is  also  given,  peculiar 
to  each  relation ;  and  that  is,  the  nature  of  the  being 
to  whom  man  is  related,  and  the  nature  of  the  relation 
which  thence  results. 

In  the  relation  that  we  are  now  to  consider,  we 
must  elevate  ourselves  to  a  knowledge  of  God,  and 
of  our  relations  to  him,  before  we  can  determine  the 
rules  which  should  direct  our  conduct  towards  him. 
A  correct  description  of  these  rules  will  depend,  then, 
not  only  upon  the  truth  of  our  conception  of  man 
and  of  his  destiny,  but  also  upon  the  purity  of  the 
idea  that  we  form  of  God,  and  of  our  relations  to 
him.  Hence  arise  the  diversity  and  progressive  puri- 
fication of  human  opinions  in  relation  to  this  first 
branch  of  ethics,  which  is  usually  called  natural 
religion.  The  name,  however,  is  an  improper  one-; 
for  it  corresponds  to  only  one  branch  of  natural 


12  JOUFFROY. . 

religion,  which,  in  its  full  extent,  embraces,  in 
addition  to  this  question  of  our  duties  towards  God, 
the  further  questions  of  God's  nature,  and  of  man's 
future  destiny  —  three  problems,  perfectly  distinct, 
but  usually  embraced  under  one  common  name.  Cor- 
responding in  history  to  this  branch  of  ethics,  we 
find  such  various  modes  of  worship  as  have  been 
adopted  under  different  systems  of  religion.  Through 
all  nations  and  ages,  men  have  endeavored,  through 
positive  laws  and  customs,  to  express,  in  a  more 
or  less  imperfect  way,  the  conception  that  they  had 
formed  of  religious  duty.  Parallel,  therefore,  to  this 
division  of  ethical  science  we  have  an  historical 
manifestation  of  man's  ideas  of  it.  And  to  all  other 
divisions  we  shall  find  similar  historical  parallels.  We 
must  add,  then,  to  our  description  of  the  laws  for 
conduct,  which  reason  announces,  a  history  of  the 
manners  and  customs  by  which  man  has  expressed 
his  various  conceptions  of  them. 


SECOND    RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  Himself: 

The  branch  of  ethics  that  describes  the  proper 
rules  of  man's  conduct  towards  himself,  is  called 
personal  morality.  A  thorough  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  of  the  external  conditions  upon  which  its 
development  depends,  when  added  to  the  true  concep- 
tion of  our  destiny,  will  enable  us  to  decide  upon  the 
rales  for  the  right  treatment  of  both  body  and  soul. 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        13 

To  refute  the  opinion  of  those  who  deny  that  there 
is  such  a  branch  of  ethics,  it  is  enough  to  read  the 
works  of  Epictetus  or  of  Marcus  Aurelius;  or  to 
suppose  a  man  shut  up  in  solitude  in  a  desert  island ; 
or  to  examine  the  opinions  of  those  who  pretend, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  all  other  branches  of  moral 
duty  may  be  resolved  into  this.  Without  adopting 
this  last  opinion,  a  little  reflection  will  soon  convince 
us,  that  no  duties  can  be  more  important.  We  find, 
in  different  forms  of  religious  observances,  and  in 
the  ethical  systems  of  philosophers  of  all  ages,  —  in 
national  laws,  especially  in  those  of  antiquity,  —  and, 
above  all,  in  the  manners  and  customs  of  all  times 
and  lands,  —  numberless  rules,  practices,  habits,  cor- 
responding with  this  branch  of  ethics,  and  expressing, 
with  more  or  less  clearness,  the  absolute  rule  of  duty 
which  man  owes  to  himself.  Such  laws  and  obser- 
vances, taken  together,  form  the  historical  parallel  to 
this  division  of  ethical  science. 


THIRD    RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  Things, 

Under  the  name  things,  I  include  all  surrounding 
creatures,  animate  or  inanimate,  organized  or  un- 
organized, with  the  exception  only  of  our  own  race. 
I  am  justified  in  giving  to  them  all  alike  this  common 
designation,  by  the  consideration,  that,  in  my  opinion, 
free  will  and  reason  are  needed  to  constitute  personali- 
ty; and  it  is  doubtful  whether  these  are  any  more  to 

VOL.  I.  B 


14  JOUFFROY. 

be  found  in  animals,  even  in  those  which  appear  to 
a  certain  degree  intelligent,  than  they  are  in  minerals 
or  plants.  Will  you  excuse,  then,  the  use  of  this 
expression,  which  I  have  adopted  for  the  sake  of  con- 
venience, and  which  will  not  prevent  us  from  making 
the  proper  distinction  between  the  different  classes 
of  beings  represented  by  it  ?  To  form  a  clear  and 
accurate  idea  of  this  branch  of  ethics,  to  which  no 
name  is  particularly  assigned,  we  can  suppose  the 
case  of  a  man  living  alone  on  an  island,  like  Rob- 
inson. We  shall  thus  avoid  all  questions  referring  to 
the  right  of  property,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  right  of 
making  use  of  things,  exclusively  of  other  men  —  ques- 
tions properly  arising  under  the  relation  in  which  man 
stands  to  his  fellow  man,  and  wholly  distinct  from 
those  which  are  suggested  by  the  relation  of  individual 
man  to  things.  In  this  supposed  case  of  a  man  alone 
in  the  midst  of  things,  you  will  perceive  that  there  are 
questions  of  duty,  peculiar  to  this  relation.  They  are 
such  as  these  :  Have  we  a  right  to  convert  to  our  own 
uses  the  nature  of  things  ?  Are  there  limits  to  this 
right  7  What  are  these  limits  ?  Are  the  limits  the 
same  in  relation  to  animals  as  to  things  inanimate  1 
The  rules  which  we  should  form  for  our  own  conduct 
towards  things,  depend,  you  will  see,  upon  the  solu- 
tion of  these  questions ;  and  this  solution  depends 
upon  our  ideas  of  our  own  destiny,  of  the  nature  of 
these  creatures,  their  destination  and  purpose  here, 
and  of  the  relations  between  ourselves  and  them.  Such 
is  the  true  object  of  this  branch  of  ethics ;  and  it  is 
divided  into  two  parts  —  the  rules  of  our  conduct 
towards  animals,  and  the  rules  of  our  conduct  towards 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        15 

things,  properly  so  called.  To  these  rules  correspond, 
in  the  various  forms  of  religion,  in  the  customs,  and 
even  in  the  laws  of  certain  people,  various  practices, 
which  are  their  historical  counterpart,  and  represent 
them  more  or  less  distinctly. 


FOURTH     RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  his  Kind. 

The  relations  which  may  arise  between  man  and 
man  are  so  various,  that  the  corresponding  division  of 
ethical  science  is  much  the  largest  and  most  complex. 
And  some  writers  have,  in  consequence,  appropriated 
the  name  ethics  exclusively  to  the  rules  of  proper 
conduct  between  man  and  man.  Subdivisions  of  these 
rules,  too,  have  received  particular  names,  and  have 
become  the  objects  of  distinct  sciences.  And  again, 
in  the  third  place,  some  authors  have  introduced  into 
the  science  of  ethics,  thus  understood,  researches 
which  make  no  part  of  it  whatever.  The  phraseology 
used  in  relation  to  this  division  of  ethical  science  has 
thus  become  confused ;  and,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
precise  notions,  and  consequently  at  clear  and  definite 
expressions,  we  must  analyze  with  care  this  grand 
relation  of  man  to  man,  and  distinguish  from  each 
other  the  different  relations,  or  at  least  the  principal 
ones  which  it  embraces.  This  we  will  now  attempt ; 
and  I  must  ask  your  candid  attention. 

The  particular  relations,  comprehended  under  the 
general  relation  of  man  to  man,  admit  of  one  primary 


16  JOUFFROY. 

distinction,  founded  on  the  circumstance  that  some 
of  these  relations  would  exist  even  were  there  no  such 
state  as  society,  while  others  arise  wholly  out  of  this 
state,  and  presuppose  it. 

I  am  far  from  admitting  the  idea  of  that  state  of 
nature  which  some  philosophers  have  dreamed  of, 
who  allot  to  man,  as  he  came  first  from  the  hands  of 
his  Creator,  the  life  of  a  solitary  animal.  All  history 
protests  against  this  fiction  ;  and,  so  far  from  repre- 
senting this  condition  as  the  natural  state  of  man, 
history  proves  that  it  has  been  by  a  concurrence  of 
remarkable  circumstances,  and  only  in  a  few  rare 
cases,  that  any  individual  of  the  species  has  lived  thus 
solitary.  History  does  not  contradict,  however,  but 
rather  confirms  the  opinion  that  there  has  existed,  at 
least  in  some  portions  of  the  earth,  anterior  to  the 
formation  of  any  society,  a  state  which  we  might  well 
call,  for  the  sake  of  distinction,  the  state  of  nature; 
such  a  state,  for  instance,  as  Abraham  and  his  children 
are  described  as  living  in  by  the  Scriptures.  This 
state  differs  from  the  state  of  society  in  many  important 
respects,  the  chief  of  which  I  will  point  out.  It  is 
this:  —  The  state  of  society  is  adventitious,  founded, 
though  it  is,  on  many  principles  of  our  nature,  while 
the  patriarchal  state  is  necessary ;  in  other  words, 
we  cannot  conceive  of  man  as  existing  out  of  the 
family  state,  while  we  can  easily  conceive  of  him,  and 
history  has  often  pictured  him,  as  living  out  of  the 
social  state,  properly  so  called. 

When  we  consider  man  as  existing  in  this  state 
of  nature,  which  is  a  possible  one,  and  has  certainly 
preceded  the  social  state,  in  some  parts  of  the  earth, 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.         17 

and  probably  in  all,  we  find  that  there  are  two  relations 
between  man  and  man,  which,  equally  with  the  state 
itself,  are  independent  of  the  existence  of  society. 
These  are  the  relations  of  man  to  man  as  individuals 
of  the  same  species,  and  the  different  relations  created 
by  the  family  tie  among  its  members.  From  these  two 
kinds  of  relations  arise  two  branches  of  duties  and 
of  rights  —  the  duties  and  rights  of  humanity,  and  the 
duties  and  rights  of  family.  These  two  branches  may 
be  called  the  ethics  of  humanity,  and  the  ethics  of  fam- 
ily ;  and,  existing,  as  they  do,  independent  of  society, 
I  will  call  them  both  by  this  common  name — the 
ethics  of  nature. 

When  society  is  formed,  these  two  anterior  relations 
of  man  to  man,  as  such,  and  of  the  members  of  families 
towards  each  other,  are  found  already  existing  ;  but 
society  modifies  both.  In  the  bosom  of  society,  indi-. 
viduals  who  are  strangers  by  blood  do  not  remain  in 
the  simple  relation  of  man  to  man ;  they  enter  into  that 
of  fellow-citizens  of  the  same  state  ;  and  the  members 
of  a  family,  too,  continue  no  longer  to  be  simply  fathers 
and  sons,  husbands  and  wives,  brethren  by  blood,  but 
they  are  also  citizens  together  in  a  social  state. 
Society  modifies,  therefore,  the  rules  of  right  conduct 
between  man  and  man,  considered  as  such,  and  between 
the  members  of  a  family  in  all  the  domestic  relations. 
It  modifies  these  so  as  best  to  secure  the  good  of  the 
whole.  Now,  all  these  rules,  thus  modified,  extended, 
multiplied,  of  whatsoever  sort  they  may  be,  constitute 
what  may  be  called  private  ethics,  the  first  branch 
of  social  ethics,  which  in  itself  embraces  the  rules 

B3 


18  JOUFFROY. 

for  every  relation  that  can  exist  between  the  citizens 
of  the  same  state. 

But,  independently  of  such  relations  as  exist  pre- 
vious to  the  formation  of  society,  and  of  which  it 
modifies  the  character,  society  creates  a  wholly  new 
relation ;  it  is  that  of  a  citizen  to  the  society  of  which 
he  is  a  member,  or  to  the  power  which  represents  that 
society.  Hence  arise  the  rules  of  conduct  for  citizens 
towards  the  state,  and  for  the  state  towards  its  citizens, 
which  together  form  public  ethics,  so  called,  the 
second  branch  of  social  ethics. 

Here,  however,  an  objection  presents  itself,  that 
must  be  removed  before  we  go  further.  All  rules  of 
private  and  public  ethics  are  evidently  established 
relatively  to  the  constitution  of  each  particular  state 
of  society.  It  would  seem,  then,  at  first  view,  as  if 
they  must  be  wholly  dependent  upon  this  constitution, 
and  as  if  it  belonged  rather  to  positive  than  to  natural 
law  to  determine  them.  This  would  be  true  if  there 
were  not  essential  properties  common  to  all  possible 
forms  of  society,  which  arise  out  of  the  very  nature 
of  society,  independently  of  the  various  forms  which 
it  may  assume,  and  thus  constitute  its  fundamental 
elements.  These  essential  conditions  give  birth  to 
essential  social  duties,  which  are  natural  and  absolute, 
duties  anterior  and  superior  to  all  positive  laws,  and 
which  it  is  the  very  purpose  of  social  enactments  to 
preserve,  under  every  possible  form  of  society.  Here, 
then,  we  have  the  natural  ethics  of  society  subdivided, 
as  positive  social  ethics  are,  into  public  duties  and 
private  duties. 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.         19 

You  see,  then,  that,  before  we  can  determine  the  rules 
of  the  natural  ethics  of  society,  we  must  have  pre 
viously  settled  two  points —  1.  The  end  of  all  society. 
2.  The  essential  conditions  of  all  society.  These  two 
questions  should  occupy  our  attention,  therefore,  before 
we  proceed  to  the  examination  of  the  rules  of  the  natural 
ethics  of  society.  And  here  let  it  be  remarked,  that  this 
whole  inquiry  is  distinct  from  questions  as  to  the  best 
organization,  and  the  best  form  of  society,  or  as  to 
the  best  means  of  securing  the  material  well-being 
of  society.  These  are  not  so  much  questions  of  duty 
as  of  art.  They  are  the  object  of  the  two  sciences 
of  politics  and  political  economy,  which  are  quite 
distinct  from  ethics ;  and  I  should  not  have  alluded 
to  them  at  all,  had  not  some  authors  connected  them 
with  those  which  form  the  proper  object  of  ethical 
science. 

There  is  one  other  relation  which  arises  from  the 
general  relation  of  man  to  man :  k  is  that  of  societies 
to  societies.  The  rules  for  conduct  between  one 
society  and  another  are  evidently  the  same  with  those 
between  one  family  and  another  in  the  state  of  nature. 
They  constitute  what  is  called  the  ethics  of  nations, 
the  fifth  and  last  branch  of  this  division  of  ethical 
science. 

And  now,  to  review  our  train  of  thought,  we  have 
found  that  the  general  relation  of  man  to  man  divides 
itself  into  five  kinds  of  principal  relations  —  1.  The 
relation  of  man  to  man  as  such,  which  is  the  object 
of  the  ethics  of  humanity  ;  2.  That  of  family,  which 
is  the  object  of  the  ethics  of  family ;  3.  That  of  fel- 
low-citizens of  a  social  state,  which  is  the  object  of 


20  JOUFFROY. 

private  ethics ;  4.  That  of  citizens  to  the  state,  and 
of  the  state  to  citizens,  which  is  the  object  of  public 
ethics ;  5.  That  of  societies  to  societies,  which  is  the 
object  of  the  ethics  of  nations. 

These  five  grand  relations  may  be  subdivided  into 
three  classes —  1.  Those  existing  independently  of 
society,  which  are  the  object  of  the  ethics  of  nature : 
under  this  division  come  the  first  two  relations ;  2. 
Those  arising  from  the  existence  of  society,  which 
would  be  the  same  were  there  only  one  social  state  : 
these  are  the  object  of  social  ethics,  and  include  the 
third  and  fourth  relations ;  3.  That  resulting  from 
the  simultaneous  existence  of  several  societies,  or  at 
least  of  several  families  living  separately,  which  is  the 
object  of  the  ethics  of  nations  :  this  is  the  fifth  and  last. 

These  different  branches  of  ethical  science  find 
their  parallels  in  history :  to  the  ethics  of  nature  cor- 
respond a  multitude  of  philosophical  systems  and 
religious  usages;  to  social  ethics,  all  positive  laws; 
and  to  the  ethics  of  nations,  the  customs  which  have 
governed  the  intercourse  of  nation  with  nation,  in  all 
the  different  ages  of  the  world. 

Such  is  the  ideal  of  the  complete  science  of  ethics, 
as  it  has  presented  itself  to  the  finest  minds  which  have 
occupied  themselves  in  its  study.  But  as  the  word 
ethics  has  not  been  universally  used  in  so  wide  a 
sense,  it  may  be  well  to  make  you  acquainted  with 
such  other  and  different  meanings  as  have  been  at- 
tached to  it. 

When  we  consider  the  meaning  of  the  epithet 
natural,  in  the  term  natural  ethics,  we  shall  be  led  to 
understand  by  it  fall  rules  of  conduct  resulting  from 


ft 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        21 

the  nature  of  things,  in  all  relations  whatever  to  which 
reason  can  attain. '  Hence  a  very  general  acceptation 
of  the  word,  which  includes  in  natural  ethics  natural 
religion,  personal  morality,  our  duties  to  things,  and 
all  social  rights  and  duties  of  every  kind.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  if  we  particularly  regard  the  word  ethics, 
we  may  be  conducted  to  two  other  quite  different 
meanings  of  the  term.  Some  writers,  taking  the  word 
ethics  in  its  philosophical  sense,  that  is  to  say,  as 
implying  rights  correlative  to  duties,  are  unwilling  to 
employ  the  term  natural  ethics,  except  as  designating 
that  portion  of  the  rules  for  human  conduct,  which, 
by  imposing  a  duty  on  one  man,  create  a  corresponding 
right  for  another ;  and  they  limit  its  application,  there- 
fore, to  one  part  only  of  the  rules  for  the  conduct 
of  man  to  his  kind.  Hence  a  second  acceptation  of  the 
word,  according  to  which  natural  ethics  comprehends 
neither  natural  religion,  nor  personal  morality,  nor 
duties  to  things,  and  not  all  the  rules  of  conduct,  even, 
for  man  to  his  kind.  Others,  again,  taking  the  word 
ethics  in  a  yet  narrower  sense,  give  the  name  natural 
ethics  only  to  that  part  of  the  rules  of  human  conduct 
discoverable  by  the  reason  which  correspond  to  posi- 
tive laws.  This  leads  them  to  a  definition  much  less 
comprehensive  than  the  former.  Hence  the  third  and 
last  acceptation  of  the  term. 

For  myself,  I  would  say  that  the  use  of  these  words 
is  a  matter  of  indifference,  provided  a  definite  signifi- 
cation is  attached  to  them.  I  like  one  definition  as 
well  as  another.  But  in  the  present  lectures,  I  adopt 
the  first  mentioned,  which  gives  to  the  term  natural 
ethics  the  widest  possible  signification.  Ethics  then, 


22  JOUFFROY. 

with  me,  means  the  science  that  treats  of  all  the  rules 
for  human  conduct  in  the  various  relations  which  I 
have  enumerated.  This  science  it  is  my  wish  and 
purpose  to  describe.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  state 
the  order  in  which  I  propose  to  discuss  the  different 
portions  of  so  vast  a  subject. 

I  shall  begin  with  personal  morality,  or  the  rules  for 
the  conduct  of  man  towards  himself.  I  shall  then 
proceed  to  the  rules  for  man's  conduct  towards  things. 
Next,  I  shall  pass  to  those  which  arise  from  the 
relations  between  man  and  man,  taking  up  first  the 
ethics  of  nature,  proceeding  to  the  ethics  of  society, 
and  ending  with  the  ethics  of  nations.  I  shall  close 
the  whole  course  with  the  consideration  of  natural 
religion,  both  because  it  is  the  crown  of  the  whole 
subject,  and  because,  having  already  directed  your 
attention,  during  two  consecutive  years,  to  one  branch 
of  this  science,  it  may  be  well  to  pursue  it  yet  further, 
Of  the  different  parts  of  this  subject  you  can  readily 
foresee  that  the  third  will  occupy  the  most  of  our 
time ;  and  it  is  pleasing  to  me  to  think  that  this  part 
will  interest  you  most  deeply.  I  will  do  all  in  my 
power  to  reach  it  as  soon  as  it  can  be  done  without 
sacrificing  to  your  curiosity  the  interests  of  the  science 
which  I  profess  to  teach  in  its  strictness,  and  whose 
purpose  it  is,  not  to  delight,  but  to  exhibit  truth.  This 
sacrifice  I  can  never  consent  to  make. 

One  word  more,  gentlemen,  before  I  close  this  lec- 
ture. Let  it  be  well  understood  that  it  is  no  part  of 
my  plan  to  teach  the  rules  for  human  conduct  in  detail, 
as  they  would  be  explained  in  a  catechism.  This 
would  be  an  endless  work,  and  would  tend  rather  to 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        23 

confuse  than  enlighten  your  minds.  My  purpose  is  very 
different.  I  wish  rather  to  establish  the  principles 
of  these  different  branches  of  the  law  of  nature,  and 
to  communicate  to  you,  if  I  may  say  so,  their  spirit 
and  substance.  For  it  is  far  less  important  to  know 
the  literal  rule  for  every  possible  situation  in  life,  than 
to  have  a  clear  and  enlarged  view  of  the  general  end 
which  we  should  propose  to  ourselves  ;  leaving  it  to 
conscience  to  decide  what,  in  view  of  the  great  end, 
the  proper  course  may  be  in  the  innumerable  relations 
into  which  the  mutable  and  uncertain  scenes  of  life 
may  bring  us. 


24  JOUFFROY 


LECTURE    II. 

THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE. 

GENTLEMEN, 

WE  have  seen,  in  our  former  lecture,  that 
the  object  of  the  science  of  ethics  is  the  discovery 
of  the  rules  for  human  conduct ;  and  that,  taken  in 
its  widest  extent,  it  embraces  all  rules,  of  every 
kind,  which  should  direct  man  in  the  present  life.  I 
have  pointed  out  to  you  the  different  parts  into  which 
it  is  naturally  divided.  And,  lastly,  I  have  stated 
what  branches  of  the  science  I  shall  pass  by  for  the 
time,  and  those  which  I  propose  to  treat  at  present, 
as  well  as  the  order  in  which  I  shall  take  them  up. 

Before  entering,  however,  upon  our  inquiries,  you 
will  remember  that  there  is  a  question  of  prejudice,  so 
to  speak,  which  we  are  to  .examine  and  answer.  It  is 
as  follows :  —  Is  there  really  any  such  science  as 
ethics  at  all  1  For,  as  you  well  know,  some  philo- 
sophical systems  have  endeavored  to  prove  that  there 
is  no  law  of  obligation,  and  that  morality  reduces 
itself  to  mere  counsels  of  prudence,  to  be  followed  or 
neglected,  at  our  own  risk. 

Now,  as  these  systems  deny  the  very  foundation 
of  ethics,  or  at  least  so  far  alter  it  as  to  destroy  its 


THE    FACTS    OF   MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  25 

true  character  and  high  importance,  it  has  seemed  to 
me  necessary,  before  entering  deeply  into  the  science, 
first  to  examine  the  great  fact  in  our  nature  on  which 
it  rests,  and  to  discuss  the  numerous  systems  which  do 
thus  deny  or  alter  it.  Such  a  discussion,  as  you  will 
at  once  see,  properly  precedes  those  inquiries  which 
are  the  object  of  the  course ;  and,  besides,  what  can 
be  more  important  than  for  us  to  know  whether  there 
is,  in  truth,  any  law  of  obligation  for  human  conduct  ? 
The  consideration  of  this  question  as  to  the  law  of 
obligation  —  a  question  that  has  occupied  the  attention 
of  the  most  celebrated  writers  in  philosophy,  politics, 
and  jurisprudence  —  carries  us,  then,  you  will  see,  to 
the  very  foundation  of  all  duties  and  rights. 

I  have  hesitated  between  two  ways  of  proceeding  in 
this  discussion.  I  have  questioned  whether  it  would 
be  better  for  me  to  explain  and  refute  these  systems 
successively,  reserving  till  the  end  an  exhibition  of  the 
facts  in  human  nature  which  they  have  altered  or 
misconceived ;  or  whether  I  should  not  rather  com- 
mence with  an  outline  of  the  facts  of  human  nature, 
and  thence,  with  the  light  of  these  facts  before  us,  pass 
to  a  judgment  of  the~  different  systems  which  have  given 
an  imperfect  view  of  them,  sacrificing  to  clearness 
whatever  greater  interest  novelty  might  give  to  the 
former  mode  of  criticism. 

I  have  determined  to  adopt  the  latter  method ;  for 
I  fear  that,  with  all  my  efforts  to  make  you  comprehend 
the  principles  and  tendency  of  each  system,  I  should 
still  fail,  unless  I  had  first  set  before  you  those  facts 
of  our  moral  nature  which  are  the  common  foundation 
on  which  all  systems  rest. 

VOL.    I.  C 


26  JOUFFROY. 

I  will  begin,  then,  with  presenting  my  own  system; 
and  I  trust  you  will  find  it  to  be  an  exact  exposition 
of  the  principal  facts  of  man's  moral  nature.  Having 
thus  given  you  a  distinct  outline  of  these  facts,  I  will 
then  proceed  to  an  examination  of  the  different  sys- 
tems, and,  bringing  them  successively  into  comparison 
with  the  standard  of  truth,  I  will  attempt  to  show 
what  facts  they  have  either  overlooked  or  perverted. 
In  this  way  we  shall  be  enabled  to  mark  their  various 
degrees  of  deviation  ;  and  it  will  become  an  easy  task 
to  refute  their  errors. 

We  will  devote  this  lecture,  then,  to  an  exposition 
of  the  facts  of  our  moral  nature  in  their  leading 
outlines;  and,  as  this  will  be  little  else  than  a  recapit- 
ulation of  a  part  of  my  lectures  for  the  last  three 
years,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  a  rapid  review  of  the 
results  at  which  we  have  arrived,  endeavoring  at  the 
same  time  to  state  them  with  such  clearness  as  will 
enable  those  who  have  not  attended  the  previous 
courses,  easily  to  comprehend  them. 

Beings  are  distinguished  from  each  other  by  their 
organization.  It  is  this  which  makes  a  plant  distinct 
from  a  mineral,  and  animals  of  one  species  from  those 
of  another.  Every  being  has,  then,  his  own  peculiar 
nature;  and  this  nature  destines  him  to  a  certain  end. 
The  destiny  of  a  bee,  for  example,  is  different  from 
that  of  a  lion,  and  a  lion's  from  that  of  a  man, 
because  their  natures  are  different.  Every  being  is 
organized  for  a  certain  end ;  and,  were  we  fully 
acquainted  with  the  nature  of  a  being,  we  might 
thence  infer  his  destiny.  There  is,  then,  an  absolute 
identity  between  the  true  good  of  any  being  and  his 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  27 

destiny.  His  highest  good  is  to  accomplish  his  des- 
tiny —  to  attain  the  end  for  which  he  was  or- 
ganized. 

As  every  being  has  a  particular  end,  which  is  his 
highest  good,  because  he  is  organized  in  a  certain 
manner,  and  in  virtue  of  this  organization,  so  there 
is  no  being  unendowed  with  such  faculties  as  are  fitted 
to  accomplish  this  end.  In  fact,  since  the  result  of  a 
being's  constitution  is  a  certain  destiny,  nature  would 
contradict  herself,  if,  after  having  appointed  him  to 
accomplish  this  end,  which  constitutes  his  good,  she 
had  not  also  bestowed  such  faculties  as  would  enable 
him  to  attain  it.  To  the  eye  of  reason  this  seems  a 
necessary  truth ;  and  experience  is  not  needed  to  verify 
it,  though  it  would  be  easy  at  any  time  to  do  so,  by 
an  examination  of  the  nature  of  beings,  of  the  end 
for  which  they  are  destined,  and  of  the  faculties  given 
to  them  to  accomplish  it.  Not  an  exception  could 
be  found  to  this  principle. 

Man,  then,  by  being  gifted  with  a  peculiar  organi- 
zation, has  necessarily  an  end,  the  accomplishment 
of  which  is  his  true  good;  and,  being  thus  organized 
for  a  certain  end,  he  has  necessarily  the  faculties  fitted 
to  accomplish  it. 

From  the  moment  when  an  organized  being  begins 
to  exist,  (and  this  remark  is  equally  true  of  unorgan- 
ized beings,)  its  nature  tends  to  the  end  for  which  it 
is  destined.  Hence  arise  within  that  being  impulses, 
which  carry  it  forward,  independently  of  all  reflection 
and  calculation,  toward  certain  particular  ends,  which, 
taken  collectively,  make  up  its  final  end.  We  will 


28  JOUPFROY. 

call  these  instinctive  emotions,  which,  even  in  reason- 
able beings,  have  no  character  of  deliberation,  which 
manifest  themselves  as  soon  as  the  child  is  born,  and 
develop  themselves  with  his  growth,  the  primitive  ten- 
dencies of  human  nature.  These  tendencies  are  com- 
mon at  once  to  all  mankind,  and  yet  peculiarly  pro- 
portioned in  each  individual ;  and  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Gall  has  attempted  to  determine  and  enumerate  them 
in  an  exact  manner,  by  showing  how  they  exist,  in 
different  degrees  of  development,  in  different  indi- 
viduals, and  how  they  result  in  the  formation  of  each 
man's  character.  These  tendencies  have  attracted  the 
attention,  also,  of  a  few  philosophers,  who,  though 
they  have  not  used  them  as  they  might,  have  still  been 
guided  by  their  knowledge  of  them  in  the  construc- 
tion of  their  systems. 

As  soon,  then,  as  man  exists,  his  nature  aspires,  in 
virtue  of  his  organization,  to  the  end  for  which  he 
is  destined,  through  impulses  carrying  him  on  irre- 
sistibly towards  it.  Later  in  life,  we  call  these  im- 
pulses the  passions. 

Contemporaneously  with  the  development  of  these 
instinctive  tendencies,  impelling  us  to  the  end  which 
is  our  true  good,  the  faculties  with  which  God  has 
endowed  us,  that  we  may  attain  it,  also  begin  to  act 
under  the  influence  of  these  impulses,  and  thus  to 
seize  the  objects  which  they  are  fitted  to  grasp.  As 
soon  as  man  exists,  there  awaken,  on  the  one  side, 
tendencies  which  manifest  his  nature,  and  on  the 
other,  faculties  given  to  him  for  their  satisfaction. 
Such  is  the  commencement  and  primary  source  of 


THE  FA*TS  OF  MAN*S  MORAL  NATURE.       29 

human  activity  ;  and  so  long  as  life  lasts  do  all  the 
various  phenomena  of  human  conduct  spring  from 
the  same  origin. 

I  have,  I  believe,  clearly  proved,  in  the  previous 
courses  of  lectures,  that  when  these  faculties  which 
have  been  placed  in  us  that  we  may  realize  the  end 
to  which  our  impulses  aspire,  first  awaken  and  unfold 
into  activity,  they  do  so  in  an  indeterminate  manner,  • 
and  without  a  precise  direction. 

The  cause  of  the  concentration  of  our  faculties 
for  the  attainment  of  their  end,  which  soon  takes  place, 
is  the  fact  that,  in  a  life  ordered  like  the  present,  they 
meet  with  obstacles  which  would  otherwise  prevent 
their  ever  attaining  it.  I  have  already  shown  you 
that,  if  this  world  was  made  up  from  the  harmonious 
forces  of  beings ;  and  if  all  these  forces,  instead  of 
opposing  one  another,  were  developed  peacefully,  — 
it  would  be  enough  for  a  being  merely  to  develop  itself 
to  attain  its  end  without  effort ;  but  such  is  not  the 
structure  of  the  present  world.  We  might  rather 
define  it  as  a  conflict  of  various  destinies,  and  conse- 
quently of  the  forces  of  all  beings  which  compose  it. 

It  is,  then,  with  our  nature,  as  with  all  other 
natures,  that,  in  developing  itself  for  the  attainment 
of  its  end,  it  meets  with  obstacles  which  arrest  and 
impede  it.  To  enable  you  to  comprehend,  in  a  precise 
manner,  the-  fact  which  I  have  now  pointed  out,  I 
will  not  enter  into  detail,  but  give  merely  a  general 
outline,  selecting,  as  an  example  from  among  our 
faculties,  the  understanding,  whose  office  it  is  to 
satisfy  our  instinctive  desire  of  knowledge. 

As   you   well    know,    the    understanding     does   not 


30  JOUFFROY. 

discover  at  once  the  truth  it  seeks.  It  meets,  on  the 
contrary,  with  difficulty,  uncertainty,  darkness ;  in  a 
word,  with  obstacles  of  all  sorts  to  impede  it.  Now, 
what  happens  when  the  understanding,  developing 
itself  in  its  primitive  mode  of  action,  fails  to  grasp  the 
knowledge  which  it  is  fitted  to  acquire?  Spontane- 
ously it  makes  an  effort  to  overcome  the  obscurity  it 
meets  with,  and  the  difficulties  which  retard  it.  And 
this  effort  is  a  concentration  upon  one  point  of  forces 
before  diffused.  When  the  understanding  develops 
itself  instinctively,  it  takes  no  particular  direction,  but 
extends  itself  in  all,  raying  out,  as  it  were,  through  all 
the  senses;  but  every  where  meeting  with  various 
kinds  of  obscurity,  it  concentrates  itself  successively 
upon  them.  And  this  occurs  spontaneously  —  a  fact 
which  it  is  important  in  a  moral  point  of  view  to  state, 
because  this  spontaneous  movement  is  the  first  mani- 
festation of  the  power  which  we  possess  of  directing 
our  faculties,  the  first  sign  of  free  will.  Remark, 
now,  that  this  effort  of  concentration  does  not  result 
from  our  nature,  but  from  our  circumstances,  and  that 
we  feel  pain  whenever  we  are  obliged  to  make  it. 
Yes,  even  now,  disciplined  and  exercised  as  our 
faculties  are,  it  is  always  fatiguing  to  concentrate 
attention  perseveringly  upon  a  particular  point.  It  is 
not,  then,  their  primitive  and  natural  mode  of  operation, 
but  one  to  which  they  are  condemned  by  the  condition 
of  humanity.  The  moment  effort  is  relaxed,  human 
nature  returns  with  pleasure  to  the  indeterminate 
mode  of  action  which  is  natural  to  it,  and  finds  there 
repose.  In  human  life  generally,  and  especially  in  the 
primitive  condition  of  man,  where  reason  has  hardly 


THE    FACTS    OP   MAN5S    MORAL    NATURE.  31 

yet  appeared,  there  is  a  constant  alternation  between 
these  two  modes  of  the  development  of  our  faculties  — 
the  indeterminate  or  natural,  and  the  concentrated  or 
voluntary. 

I  limit  myself  now  to  a  simple  statement  of  this  fact, 
though  hereafter  I  shall  draw  from  it  important  conse- 
quences. There  is  another  fact  of  equal  interest,  and 
it  is  this  :  However  great  may  be  the  efforts  made  by 
our  faculties  to  satisfy  the  primitive  tendencies  of  our 
nature,  and  to  supply  them  with  the  good  they  crave, 
yet  are  they  never  successful  in  obtaining  more  than 
an  incomplete,  and,  in  truth,  an  exceedingly  incomplete 
satisfaction.  Such  is  the  law  of  life.  Man  never 
triumphs  over  the  hard  condition  here  imposed  upon 
him.  In  the  present  life,  complete  satisfaction  of  our 
tendencies,  perfect  good,  is  never  found  —  a  fact  as 
incontestable  as  those  already  noticed. 

When  our  faculties,  becoming  active,  strive  to  find 
satisfaction  for  our  tendencies,  and  gain  some  portion 
of  the  good  they  seek,  the  phenomenon  which  we  call 
pleasure  appears.  Privation,  or  the  check  that  our 
faculties  experience  when  they  are  prevented  from  ob- 
taining what  they  seek,  produces  another  phenomenon, 
which  we  call  pain.  We  experience  pleasure  and 
pain,  because  we  are  not  only  active,  but  sensitive. 
It  is  owing  to  this  sensitiveness,  that  our  nature 
rejoices  or  suffers  according  to  our  success  or  failure 
in  the  pursuit  of  good.  We  can  conceive  of  a  nature 
which  should  be  active  without  being  sensitive.  It 
would  still  have  an  end  —  a  good  ;  tendencies  impelling 
it  towards  that  good  ;  faculties  fitted  to  attain  it : 
it  would  sometimes  be  successful,  sometimes  disap- 


32  JOUFFROT. 

pointed ;  but  without  sensibility  it  could  never  ex- 
perience pleasure  or  pain,  that  is  to  say,  a  sensible 
recognition  of  good  and  evil.  Such  is  the  true  origin 
and  character  of  pleasure  and  of  pain ;  and  these 
phenomena  are,  as  you  at  once  see,  subordinate  to 
good  and  evil.  I  beg  you  to  remark  this  attentively, 
for  good  is  too  often  confounded  with  pleasure,  and 
evil  with  pain ;  but  they  are  widely  distinct.  Good 
and  evil  are  success  or  failure  in  the  pursuit  of  those 
ends  to  which  our  nature  aspires  ;  we  could  obtain  one 
and  suffer  the  other  without  pleasure  or  pain,  if  we 
were  not  sensitive.  But  being,  as  we  are,  sensitive,  it 
is  impossible  that  our  nature  should  not  rejoice  when 
it  succeeds  in  attaining  its  good,  and  suffer  when  it 
fails.  This  is  the  law  of  our  constitution.  Pleasure, 
then,  is  the  consequence  and  the  sign  of  our  having 
reached  our  good  ;  pain,  the  consequence  and  sign 
of  our  failure  to  obtain  it.  But  the  pleasure  is  not 
the  good,  and  the  pain  is  not  the  evil. 

As  every  being  seeks  a  good,  rejoices  when  it 
attains  it,  suffers  when  it  fails,  it  must  love  every 
thing  which  can  aid  in  procuring  it,  and  feel  an 
aversion  to  whatever  prevents  its  acquisition.  It  is 
thus  that,  as  our  faculties  develop,  and  as  we  meet  with 
objects  which  advance  or  oppose  our  efforts,  we  feel 
for  the  first  time  affection  and  love,  aversion  and 
hatred.  In  this  way  it  is  that  our  tendencies,  that  is 
to  say,  the  most  important  of  them  —  the  true  passions 
of  human  nature  —  branch  out  as  they  advance  toward 
the  accomplishment  of  their  end,  and  become  divided 
into  a  multitude  of  particular  tendencies,  which  we  also 
call  passions.  But  these  are  distinguished  from  our  prim- 


THE    FACTS    OF   MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  33 

itive  passions  by  the  fact  that  the  latter  are  developed 
spontaneously  and  independently  of  all  external  objects, 
and   that   they  aspire  toward    their    end  even  before 
reason  has  made  that  end   known  to  us ;    while  the 
passions  which  I  call   secondary,  are  first  called  forth 
by  the  external  objects  which  help  or  hinder  the  devel- 
opment of  the  primitive   passions.     Whatever  assists 
our  tendencies  we  call  useful;  whatever  interferes  with 
them,   injurious.      Such    is   the   origin  of  the    secon- 
dary passions,  and  of  the  idea  of  utility.     Among  our 
natural   tendencies   are  some,  which,    like   sympathy, 
have  regard  to  the  welfare  of  our   fellow-beings,  while 
others  have  not,  as  curiosity,  or  the  desire  of  knowl- 
edge, and  ambition,  or  the  desire  of  power,  for  example. 
And  although  it  is   true,  that  in  infancy,  and  before 
reason  makes  us  acquainted  with  our  nature,  all  our 
tendencies  are  developed  without  any  view  to  our  own 
good,  yet,  even  then,  some  among  them   are   adapted 
to  procure  mere  selfish  gratification,  while  others  tend 
to  produce,  in  addition,  the  happiness  of  others.     And 
it  is  important  to  be  remarked,  that  even  when,  at  a 
later  period  in  life,  and  after  reason   has  begun   to  act, 
we  are  benevolently  disposed   towards  others,  it   is  not 
owing  to  the  influence  of  reason  alone,  but  also  of  our 
tendencies,  that  we   feel  this  sympathy,  which,   inde- 
pendently of  all  idea  of  duty  and  of  all  calculations  of 
interest,  impels  us   forward  to  the  good  of  others,  as 
its  proper  and  final  end.     The  principle  is  personal ; 
but  the  end   to  which   it  spontaneously   aspires   is  the 
good  of  others.     Thus,   even  when   man  is  moved  by 
instinct   only,   he   already  has   the   benevolent   affec- 
tions. 


34  JOUFFROY. 

The   facts   which   I   have    thus    far    presented    are 
peculiar  to  the   primitive  state  of  man  —  his  infancy. 
When  reason  appears,  two  changes  take  place   in  this 
primitive  state,   from   which  two  other  moral    states, 
entirely   distinct,   arise.     Before  describing,   however, 
these  two  states,  let  us  reconsider,   in   a   few  words, 
the  constituent  elements  of  the  primitive  state.     I  have 
said,  that,  in  the  very  commencement  of  life,  certain 
tendencies  develop  themselves,  and  manifest  the   end 
for   which   man   is    created ;    that   contemporaneously 
appear  certain  faculties  adapted  to  aid  them  in  obtain- 
ing satisfaction;  that  the  unaided  development  of  these 
faculties  is  naturally  indeterminate,  but  that  the  obsta- 
cles  which    they   meet    with   produce    incidentally    a 
concentration,  which  is  the  first  manifestation,  or  the 
earliest  stage,  of  the  development  of  the  will.     You 
have  seen  that  human  nature,  because   it  is  sensitive, 
experiences  pleasure  when  its  tendencies   are  satisfied, 
and   pain    when  they   are  not ;  that,   further,   it    feels 
love   for  whatever   assists,   and   aversion   for   whatever 
prevents,  the  development  of  our  tendencies ;  and  that 
thus  our  primitive  passions  branch  out  into  a  multitude 
of  secondary  passions.     Such  are  the  elements  of  the 
primitive  state.     The  peculiar  distinction  of  this  state 
is  the   exclusive  dominion  of  passion.       Undoubtedly 
there  is,  in  the  fact  of  the  concentration  of  our  faculties, 
a  commencement   of  self-control,  and   of  the  personal 
direction  of  our   faculties ;    but  this  power  is   as  yet 
blind,    and    entirely   obedient   to  the  passions,    which 
determine  necessarily  the  action  and  direction  of  our 
faculties.     It  is  at  this  period  that  reason  appears,  and 
frees  the  will  from  the  exclusive  empire  of  the  passions. 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      35 

Up  to  the  time  when  it  first  begins  to  exercise  its 
influence,  the  present  impulse,  and  among  these  im- 
pulses -the  strongest,  has  carried  the  will  captive, 
because  as  yet  there  can  be  no  foresight  of  evil  conse- 
quences. Thus  the  passion,  for  the  moment  active, 
triumphs  over  passions  which  are  dormant,  and  among 
passions  already  awakened,  the  strongest  has  sway. 
This  is  the  law  of  human  volition  and  action  in  the 
primitive  state.  The  will  already  acts,  but  it  is  not 
yet  free.  We  have  power  over  our  faculties,  but  we 
cannot  yet  direct  them  altogether  as  we  choose.  Let 
us  now  contemplate  the  change  produced  when  the 
reason,  awakening,  leads  us  out  from  this  condition 
of  infancy. 

Reason,  in  the  simplest  definition  of  it,  is  the  faculty 
of  comprehension ;  and  we  must  be  careful  not  to 
confound  it  with  the  faculty  of  knowing.  Animals 
acquire  knowledge,  but  we  see  no  signs  of  their  being 
able  to  comprehend  ;  and  this  distinguishes  them  from 
men.  If  they  could  comprehend,  they  would  be  like  us, 
and  instead  of  living  as  they  do  now,  in  the  condition 
in  which  they  are  born,  they  would  rise  successively, 
as  man  does,  to  the  two  moral  states  which  reason 
introduces. 

When  reason  first  begins  to  exert  its  power,  it 
finds  human  nature  in  full  development,  its  tendencies 
all  in  play,  and  its  faculties  active.  In  virtue  of  its 
nature,  that  is  to  say,  of  its  power  of  comprehension, 
it  enters  into  the  meaning  of  surrounding  phenomena, 
and  it  at  once  comprehends  that  all  these  tendencies 
and  faculties  are  seeking  one  common  end  —  a  final 
and  complete  end,  which  is  the  satisfaction  of  our 


36  JOUFFROY. 

entire  nature.  This  satisfaction  of  our  nature,  which 
is  the  sum  and  resultant  of  the  satisfaction  of  each 
separate  tendency,  is  our  true  end  —  our  real  well- 
being  and  good.  Toward  this  good  all  passions  of 
every  kind  aspire  ;  and  it  is  this  good  which  our  nature 
is  impelled,  with  every  unfolding  faculty,  to  seek. 
Reason  comprehends  this,  and  the  general  idea  of 
good  springs  up;  and  although  the  good,  of  which  we 
thus  acquire  the  idea,  is  still  a  personal  good,  yet  have 
we  made  an  immense  advance  from  the  primitive  state 
when  we  had  no  such  idea. 

The  observation  and  experience  of  what  is  con- 
stantly passing  within  us  enables  reason  to  comprehend 
that  the  complete  satisfaction  of  our  nature  is  impossi- 
ble, and,  consequently,  that  it  is  a  delusion  to  expect 
perfect  good ;  that  therefore  we  ought  not,  and  cannot, 
aspire  to  more  than  the  greatest  possible  good,  that  is 
to  say,  the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  our  nature. 
We  rise,  then,  from  the  idea  of  mere  good  to  the 
idea  of  the  greatest  possible  good. 

Reason  immediately  comprehends,  too,  that  every 
thing  which  can  conduct  us  to  our  highest  good  is 
itself  good  on  that  very  account,  and  that  every  thing 
which  would  turn  us  from  it  is  evil ;  but  it  does  not 
confound  these  two  properties  of  certain  objects  with 
good  and  evil  in  themselves,  that  is  to  say,  with  the 
satisfaction  or  disappointment  of  our  nature.  It 
draws  a  wide  distinction  between  good  in  itself  and 
the  means  proper  to  produce  it ;  and,  generalizing  this 
property  common  to  various  objects,  it  rises  to  the 
idea  of  the  useful.  -^ 

Reason  does  not  tail  to  distinguish  also  this  satis- 


THE    FACTS    OF   MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  37 

Faction  or  disappointment  of  the  tendencies  of  our 
nature  from  the  agreeable  or  disagreeable  sensations 
which  accompany  them  in  our  sensibility ;  and  per- 
ceives that  the  idea  of  pleasure  is  different  from  those 
of  good  and  of  utility,  and  the  idea  of  pain  from  those 
of  evil  and  of  injury  ;  and  as  it  had  before  acquired 
the  general  idea  of  good  and  the  idea  of  utility,  so 
now,  by  combining  all  agreeable  sensations  together, 
does  it  form  the  gener-al  idea  of  happiness. 

Thus  these  three  ideas  of  good,  utility,  happiness, 
are  soon  deduced,  by  reason,  from  the  spectacle  of  our 
nature  in  its  process  of  development —  ideas  which,  in 
all  languages,  are  perfectly  distinct,  because  all  lan- 
guages represent  that  common  sense  which  is  the 
truest  expression  of  reason.  Man  has  now  a  key  to 
the  secret  operations  which  are  passing  within  him. 
Heretofore  he  has  lived  without  comprehending  them, 
but  now  he  has  become  intelligent;  he  sees  the  origin 
and  scope  of  his  passions,  the  direction,  bias,  and 
measure  of  his  faculties ;  he  learns  the  nature  and 
origin  of  his  love  and  hatred,  the  causes  of  his  pleas- 
ure and  his  pain ;  all  becomes  plain  through  the 
teachings  of  reason. 

But  reason  does  not  stop  here.  It  comprehends, 
too,  that,  in  the  condition  in  which  man  is  actually 
placed,  self-control,  or  the  direction  of  the  faculties  and 
forces  of  which  he  is  conscious,  is  the  indispensable 
condition  for  his  attaining  the  greatest  possible  satis- 
faction of  his  nature. 

In  fact,  so  long  as  our   faculties   are   abandoned  to 
the  guidance  of  passion,  they  obey  the  passion  which 
is  dominant  for  the  moment;  and  therein  is  a  twofold 
T*L.  i.  » 


38  JOUFFROY. 

disadvantage.  For,  first,  the  passions  are  so  variable 
and  transient,  that  the  sway  of  one  is  soon  displaced 
for  that  of  another  ;  there  can  be,  therefore,  no  pro- 
gressive or  steady  action  of  our  faculties,  and  conse- 
quently nothing  important  is  accomplished.  And, 
secondly  ;  a  momentary  good,  gained  by  the  satisfaction 
of  any  dominant  passion,  is  often  the  cause  of  great 
evil,  while  a  momentary  evil,  from  not  satisfying  it,  often 
is  a  means  to  great  good ;  so  that  nothing  is  less 
suitable  to  produce  our  highest  good  than  the  direction 
of  our  faculties  by  our  passions.  Reason  is  not  slow 
in  discovering  this,  and  of  course  concludes  that,  for 
the  attainment  of  our  highest  good,  it  is  not  well  that 
human  will  should  be  any  longer  a  prey  to  the  mechan- 
ical forces  of  passion  ;  it  sees,  on  the  contrary,  that, 
instead  of  being  borne  on  by  impulse  to  the  satisfaction 
of  any  passion  which  may  for  the  instant  be  strongest, 
it  would  be  better  that  our  faculties  should  be  freed 
from  this  servitude,  and  directed  exclusively  to  the 
realizing  of  what  is  clearly  seen  to  be  for  the  interests 
of  all  our  passions,  that  is  to  say,  the  highest  possible 
good  of  our  nature.  And  the  more  strongly  reason 
conceives  of  this  end,  the  more  satisfied  is  it  that  we 
have  the  power  to  effect  it.  It  depends  on  ourselves 
to  form  the  estimate  of  our  greatest  possible  good ; 
reason  enables  us  to  do  it.  Equally  does  it  depend  on 
ourselves  to  set  free  our  faculties,  and  to  employ  them 
for  the  fulfilment  of  this  idea  of  our  reason.  For  we 
have  the  ~power ;  it  has  been  already  manifested,  and 
we  have  recognized  it  in  the  spontaneous  effort  by 
which,  to  gratify  a  passion,  we  concentrate  upon  one 
point  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind.  We  have  but  to 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN*S    MORAL    NATURE.  39 

do  voluntarily,  what  we  have  already  done  spontane- 
ously, and  free  will  is  born.  The  instant  that  this 
grand  revolution  is  conceived  of,  that  instant  it  is 
accomplished.  A  new  principle  of  action  springs  up 
within  us,  namely,  self-interest,  well  understood  —  a 
principle  which  is  not  a  passion,  but  an  idea,  which  is 
not  the  result  of  a  blind  and  primitive  instinct,  but 
of  deliberate  and  rational  reflection  —  a  principle 
which  is  not,  like  the  passion,  a  momentum,  but  a  mo- 
tive. Strengthened  by  this  motive,  our  natural  power 
over  our  faculties  exerts  itself,  and,  directing  them  by 
this  idea,  shakes  off  the  bondage  of  passion  and  develops 
into  full  vigor.  Henceforth  human  power  is  free  from 
the  vacillating  and  turbulent  empire  of  passion,  and 
becomes  subject  to  the  law  of  reason ;  it  forms  an 
estimate  of  the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  our 
tendencies,  that  is  to  say,  of  our  highest  good,  and 
pursues  self-interest,  well  understood. 

Such  is  the  new  moral  condition  which  the  action 
of  reason  introduces ;  self-interest,  well  understood,  is 
substituted  for  the  partial  good  to  which  the  passions 
impelled  us,  as  the  end ;  and  self-direction  is  made  the 
means.  The  exclusive  dominion  of  passion,  which 
•haracterized  the  primitive  state,  is  ever.  A  new 
power  has  come  in  between  the  passions  and  our  fac- 
ulties, even  reason  and  free  will ;  of  which  the  first 
points  out  an  end,  and  the  second  directs  our  faculties 
in  its  pursuit. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  however,  that,  after  this 
revolution,  the  direction  of  human  power  in  the  hands 
of  reason  receives  no  support  from  passion.  The  fact 
is  quite  otherwise.  When  reason  first  perfectly  coin- 


40  JOUFFROY 

prebends  the  inconvenience  of  yielding  to  passion,  yet 
more  when  it  conceives  the  idea  of  interest  well 
understood,  and  of  the  importance  of  giving  it  a  pref- 
erence in  every  case  over  our  passing  impulses,  then, 
at  that  very  instant,  does  our  nature,  in  virtue  of  its 
laws,  become  passionately  attached  to  that  system  of 
conduct  which  appears  a  good  means  to  attain  its  end, 
or,  in  other  words,  passionately  attached  to  all  that  is 
useful ;  it  loves  this  system  of  conduct,  deviates  from  it 
only  with  regret,  and  feels  aversion  for  all  that  opposes 
it.  Thus  passion  comes  in  aid  of  the  government  of 
human  power  by  interest  well  understood,  and  harmo- 
nious action  ensues  between  the  passionate  and  rational 
elements  of  the  soul.  Yet  is  not  this  cooperation 
entire  ;  for  the  idea  of  our  highest  good,  as  conceived 
by  the  reason,  does  not  stifle  wholly  the  instinctive  ten- 
dencies of  our  nature  ;  they  still  remain  active,  because 
they  are  imperishable,  and  crave,  as  before,  instant 
gratification,  and  strive  to  employ,  for  this  end,  the 
force  of  our  faculties,  and  often  succeed.  The  idea 
of  self-interest  well  understood  finds  sympathy  indeed 
from  our  passions;  but  it  encounters  also  an  opposing 
host.  Human  power  is,  then,  far  from  being  com- 
pletely redeemed  from  the  influence  of  the  passions  in 
the  second  state.  They  disturb  too  often,  especially 
in  weak  minds,  the  control  of  self-interest.  In  a  word, 
where  reason  introduces  the  idea  of  self-interest,  a  new 
moral  state,  a  new  mode  of  self-determination,  arises. 
But  it  does  not  steadily  take  the  place  of  the  primitive 
mode  of  action.  Man  oscillates  between  the  two, 
now  resisting  impulse  and  following  his  interest,  now 
yielding  to  it  a  free  range;  a  new  mode  of  self- 


THE    FACTS     OF    MAN*S    MORAL    NATURE.  41 

determination  is  introduced,  notwithstanding,  into  the 
operations  of  our  spiritual  being. 

This  new  moral  state  and  mode  of  self-determination 
is,  precisely  speaking,  the  selfish  state.  The  essence  of 
self-love  is  the  knowledge  that,  in  acting,  we  are  promo- 
ting our  own  peculiar  good.  But  this  knowledge  we 
are  unconscious  of  in  the  primitive  state,  and  the 
child  therefore  cannot  be  called  selfish.  In  him  the 
instinctive  tendencies  of  nature  reign  supremely,  each 
aspiring  to  its  particular  end,  as  to  a  final  end  ;  the 
child  perceives  these  ends,  loves  them,  strives  to  attain 
them,  but  he  sees  no  further.  It  is  true,  to  be  sure, 
that  the  passions  are  really  tending  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  whole  nature ;  but  the  child  is  unconscious  of 
this  tendency ;  he  is  not,  then,  selfish,  in  the  true  sense 
of  that  word.  He  is  innocent  as  Psyche,  loving  withf 
out  knowing  what  love  is.  Reason  in  man  is  the 
torch  of  Psyche.  Reason  alone  can  reveal  to  him 
the  final  end  of  his  passions,  and  thus  substitute  a 
rational  motive  to  conduct,  for  the  impulses  which 
before  directed  him.  Reason  alone,  then,  calls  forth 
true  self-love ;  it  cannot  possibly  exist  in  the  primitive 
state  of  infancy. 

As  yet  we  have  not  reached  the  state  which  pecu- 
liarly and  truly  deserves  the  name  of  moral.  It  results 
from  a  new  discovery  made  by  reason  —  a  discovery 
which  elevates  man  from  the  general  ideas  which 
belong  to  the  period  of  self-love,  to  universal  and 
absolute  ideas. 

This  step  the  moralists,  who  base  their  systems  on 
self-interest,  do  not  take.  They  stop  at  self-love.  In 
making  it,  we  cross  an  immense  abyss,  which  separates 

D2 


42  JOUFFROY. 

the  selfish  from  the  disinterested  school  of  morals. 
Let  us  see,  then,  how  this  transition  from  the  second 
state,  which  I  have  just  described,  to  the  moral  state, 
properly  so  called,  is  effected. 

There  is  an  illogical  arguing  in  a  circle  concealed 
beneath  the  selfish  explanation  of  human  volitions. 
The  selfish  system  gives  the  name  of  good  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  and  when 
asked,  Why  is  the  satisfaction  of  these  tendencies  a 
good  ?  it  answers,  Because  it  is  the  satisfaction  of  the 
tendencies  of  our  nature.  It  is  in  vain  that,  to  escape 
from  this  vicious  circle  of  reasoning,  the  selfish  system 
seeks,  in  the  pleasure  which  accompanies  the  satisfac- 
tion of  our  tendencies,  an  explanation  of  the  asserted 
fact,  that  this  satisfaction  and  our  good  are  equivalent. 
Reason  finds  no  more  evidence  that  pleasure  is  equiv- 
alent to  good,  than  that  the  satisfaction  of  our  nature 
is ;  and  the  reason  why  this  latter  is  so,  remains  there- 
fore unexplained.  It  is  this  mystery,  which,  by  pain- 
fully perplexing  us,  forces  reason  to  ascend  one  step 
higher  in  moral  conceptions.  Elevating  itself  above 
exclusively  personal  considerations,  it  conceives  the 
thought  that  creatures  of  all  kinds  are  situated  like 
ourselves;  that  all  having  a  nature  peculiarly  their  own, 
aspire,  in  virtue  of  this  nature,  to  that  particular  end 
which  is  their  highest  good;  and  that  each  of  these 
separate  ends  is  one  element  of  a  complete  and  final 
end,  which  absorbs  them  all  —  an  end  which  is  that 
of  the  creation  itself —  an  end  which  is  universal  order. 
The  realization  of  this  end  alone,  in  the  view  of 
reason,  merits  the  title  of  good,  fulfilling  the  idea, 
and  forming  an  equivalent  to  it  so  evident  that  it  needs 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN5S    MORAL    NATURE  43 

no  proof.  When  reason  has  ascended  to  this  concep- 
tion, it  has  reached,  for  the  first  time,  the  idea  of 
good.  It  had  previously  applied  the  name  in  a  con- 
fused manner  to  the  satisfaction  of  our  nature ;  but  it 
could  neither  explain  nor  justify  this  use  of  the  name. 
But  now,  in  the  light  of  this  new  discovery,  the  ap- 
plication of  the  word  becomes  clear  and  legitimate. 
Good  —  true  good  —  good  in  itself — absolute  good 
is  the  realization  of  the  absolute  end  of  the  creation  — 
is  universal  order.  The  end  of  each  element  of  crea- 
tion, that  is,  of  each  being,  is  one  element  of  the 
absolute  end.  Each  being  aspires  towards  this  abso- 
lute end  in  seeking  its  own  peculiar  end,  and  this 
universal  aspiration  is  the  universal  life  of  creation. 
The  realization  of  the  end  of  each  being  is  then  an 
element  of  the  realization  of  the  end  of  creation,  that 
is  to  say,  of  universal  order.  The  good  of  each  being 
is  a  fragment  of  absolute  good ;  and  it  is  on  this 
account  that  the  good  of  each  being  is  really  a  good  ; 
thence  comes  its  character  ;  and  as  absolute  good  is 
worthy  of  all  reverence,  and  sacred  in  the  eyes  of 
reason,  so  the  good  of  each  being  —  the  realization 
of  its  end  —  the  accomplishment  of  its  destiny  —  the 
development  of  its  nature  —  the  satisfaction  of  its 
tendencies,  which  are  all  identical,  become  equally 
sacred  and  worthy  of  reverence. 

The  moment  the  idea  of  order  is  conceived,  reason 
feels  for  it  a  sympathy  so  profound,  true,  immediate, 
that  she  prostrates  herself  before  it,  recognizes  its 
consecrated  and  supreme  right  of  control,  adores  it 
as  a  legitimate  sovereign,  honors  it,  and  submits  to  it 
as  the  natural  and  eternal  law.  To  violate  this  law 


44  JOUFFROY. 

is  an  outrage  in  the  view  of  reason ;  to  realize  order, 
so  far  as  our  weakness  is  capable  of  it,  is  good,  is  right, 
is  worthy.  A  new  motive  of  action  is  made  known  — 
a  new  rule,  truly  a  rule  —  a  new  law,  truly  a  law  — 
a  motive,  rule,  and  law  Belt-legitimated,  which  are 
of  instant  obligation,  and  need  the  aid  of  nothing 
foreign,  of  nothing  anterior  or  superior  to  make  them 
recognized  and  respected. 

To  deny  that  there  is  any  thing  sacred,  venerable, 
obligatory  for  us  rational  beings,  is  to  assert  one  of 
two  things  —  either  that  human  reason  cannot  elevate 
itself  to  the  idea  of  good  in  itself,  of  universal  order  ; 
or  that,  after  having  conceived  this  idea,  reason  does 
not  bow  to  it,  nor  feel  instantly  and  deeply  that  it 
has,  for  the  first  time,  become  acquainted  with  its 
true  law.  But  neither  of  these  facts  can  possibly  be 
misunderstood  or  questioned. 

This  idea,  this  law,  gives  light  and  strength,  by 
showing  us  that  the  end  of  each  being  is  an  element 
of  universal  order  ;  it  communicates  to  these  ends,  and 
to  the  instinctive  tendencies  of  all  beings,  a  respect- 
able and  sacred  character,  which  they  had  not  before. 
Up  to  this  time  we  have  been  impelled  to  the  satis- 
faction of  our  tendencies  by  their  impulse,  or  by  the 
pleasure  which  follows  this  satisfaction.  Reason  had 
judged  this  satisfaction  to  be  fit,  useful,  agreeable. 
It  had  estimated  the  best  means  of  gaining  it  ;  but 
that  it  is  lawful  and  good  in  itself,  or  that  it  is  our 
duty  to  pursue  it  and  our  right  to  attain  it,  this  it  was 
as  yet  unable  to  perceive.  The  right  and  duty  of 
advancing  toward  the  end,  which  is  our  highest  good, 
is  not  revealed,  until  we  see  our  end  to  be  an  element 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      45 

of  universal  order,  and  our  good  a  fragment  of  abso- 
lute good.  Our  highest  good  assumes,  then,  its  char- 
acter of  lawful  propriety  and  absolute  goodness ;  but 
not  our  good  alone  —  the  good,  the  end  of  every 
creature,  equally  becomes,  to  our  view,  lawful  and 
proper.  Heretofore  we  were  able  to  conceive  that  all 
beings  had  tendencies  to  be  satisfied,  and  that  conse- 
quently this  was  as  good  for  them  as  for  ourselves ; 
and,  impelled  by  sympathy,  we  could  desire  instinc- 
tively their  good,  could  find  pleasure  in  doing  so,  and 
thus  include  the  promotion  of  their  happiness  in  our 
calculations  of  self-love.  But  that  it  is  good  and 
proper  in  itself  that  they  should  attain  this  end,  and 
that  this  good,  therefore,  ought  to  appear  in  some  sort 
venerable  and  sacred  to  us,  —  this  reason  could  not 
determine  or  even  conceive  of.  But  when  the  idea 
of  absolute  good  is  once  formed,  what  was  unseen 
before  becomes  clear,  and  the  good  of  others  appears 
to  us  as  sacred  as  our  own  ;  or,  in  other  words,  equally 
an  element  of  that  which  alone  is  venerable  in  itself — 
order.  Thus  the  idea  of  obligation  attaches  itself 
at  one  and  the  same  time  to  the  attainment  of  our  own 
and  others'  good.  And  we  see  no  longer  any  differ- 
ence between  the  duty  of  accomplishing  our  own  good, 
and  of  aiding  other  beings  to  accomplish  theirs;  both 
are  parts  of  absolute  good  ;  and  since  this  is  obligatory 
in  itself,  it  impresses  the  character  of  lawfulness  upon 
them. 

All  duty,  right,  obligation,  and  rules  of  morality, 
spring  from  this  one  source,  the  idea  of  good  in 
itself —  the  idea  of  order.  Destroy  this  idea,  and  no 
longer  is  there  any  thing  sacred  in  itself  to  the  eye 


46  JOUFFROY. 

!  of  reason;  consequently  nothing  obligatory,  and  no 
moral  difference  between  our  various  ends  and  actions ; 
the  universe  becomes  a  riddle,  and  all  destiny  a  mys- 
tery. But  restore  this  idea,  and  the  universe  and  man 
become  at  once  intelligible ;  an  end  appears  for  all  and 
every  creature ;  a  sacred  order,  which  every  rational 
being  is  bound  to  respect,  and  to  aid  in  preserving 
within  and  around  it,  is  revealed  to  us,  and  with  it 
duties,  rights,  rules  for  morals,  and  a  natural  code  of 
laws  for  human  conduct.  Such  are  the  changes  in 
human  nature  which  follow  the  conception  of  order,  or 
good  in  itself. 

But  this  idea  of  order,  high  as  it  is,  is  not  the 
final  limit  of  human  thought.  Reason  takes  one  step 
higher,  and  is  elevated  to  the  conception  of  the  God 
who  created  this  universal  order,  and  who  has  given 
to  every  creature  its  constitution,  and  consequently  its 
destiny.  Thus  allied  to  the  Eternal  Being,  order  appears 
no  longer  a  mere  metaphysical  abstraction ;  it  becomes 
the  expression  of  the  thought  of  divinity,  and  morality 
exhibits  its  religious  aspect.  But  even  were  this  not 
seen,  the  obligatory  nature  of  duty  would  still  be  felt. 
If,  supreme  above  order,  reason  had  never  beheld  the 
Deity,  order  would  have  been  as  sacred  ;  for  the  relation 
between  reason  and  the  idea  of  order  exists  indepen- 
dently of  all  religious  convictions.  Only,  then,  when 
God  appears  to  us  as  the  very  essence  and  substance 
of  this  order,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  as  the  will 
which  has  established  it,  the  intelligence  which  con- 
ceived it,  do  religious  and  moral  obedience  become 
united  in  one,  and  order  assume  its  venerable  aspect. 
There  is  yet  another  phenomenon  of  our  nature  to 


THE  FA«TS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      47 

be  noticed.  From  very  infancy,  and  long  before  reason, 
in  its  development,  has  risen  to  the  idea  of  order,  we 
feel  a  sympathy  for  all  that  has  the  character  of  beauty, 
and  an  antipathy  to  all  that  is  wanting  in  this  beauty. 
A  profound  analysis  shows  that  this  presence  or 
absence  of  beauty  is  only  the  expression  and  material 
symbol  of  order  or  disorder.  These  two  sentiments 
result,  then,  only  from  a  confused  perception  of  the 
idea  of  order,  and  are  the  effect  of  that  deep  sympathy 
which  unites  all  that  is  elevated  in  our  nature  to  this 
grand  idea.  Later  in  life,  when  we  have  conceived 
this  idea  distinctly,  we  are  able  perfectly  to  explain 
this  instinctive  sentiment  of  love  for  beauty,  and  of  its 
attractive  charm  ;  and  beauty  is  seen  by  us  to  be  one 
face  of  absolute  good.  So  also  is  it  with  truth.  Truth 
is  order  conceived,  as  beauty  is  order  realized.  In 
other  words,  absolute  truth — the  perfect  truth,  which 
we  imagine  in  the  Deity,  and  of  which  we  only  possess 
fragments  in  ourselves  —  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  any  thing 
more  than  the  eternal  laws  of  that  order  which  all  beings 
tend  to  fulfil,  and  all  rational  beings  are  bound  volun- 
tarily to  advance.  As  this  order,  viewed  as  the  end  of 
creation,  is  absolute  good,  and,  as  expressed  by  the 
symbol  of  creation,  is  beauty,  so,  considered  as  a 
thought  in  the  mind  of  God  or  man,  it  is  truth.  Good, 
beauty,  and  truth,  are,  then,  order  under  three  different 
aspects;  and  order  itself  is  the  thought,  the  will,  the 
development,  the  manifestation  of  God.  But  we  must 
not  lose  ourselves  in  these  lofty  views ;  and  we  resume 
our  subject. 

When  we  have  conceived  the  idea  of  order,  and  of 
the  obligation  we  are  under,  so  far  as  in  us  lies,  to 


48  JOUFFUOY. 

fulfil  it,  a  new  mode  of  self-determination,  m  addition 
to  the  two  which  have  at  an  earlier  period  impelled  us, 
appears  —  the  moral  mode.  We  may  be  determined  to 
act,  not  only  by  the  impulse  of  passion,  as  in  the  primitive 
state,  and  by  the  view  of  the  highest  possible  satisfac- 
tion of  these  passions,  as  in  the  state  of  self-love  ;  but 
also  by  the  idea  of  order,  or  good  in  itself,  to  which 
reason  has  attained,  and  which  is  seen  to  be  the  true 
law  of  our  conduct.  And  as  soon  as  this  motive  begins 
to  sway  our  actions,  a  third  and  wholly  distinct  mode 
of  self-determination  is  introduced. 

The  characteristics  of  this  new  mode  are  widely 
different  from  those  of  passion  or  of  self-love,  although 
it  has  this  in  common  with  the  latter,  that  it  can  take 
place  only  in  a  rational  being.  Both  modes  are  thus 
so  plainly  distinguished  from  that  of  passion  that  no 
one  can  fail  to  notice  it. 

As  self-love  and  passion  may  both  impel  us  to  the  > 
same  acts,  so  self-love  and  the  moral  motive  may 
prescribe  to  us  precisely  the  same  conduct  in  a  mul- 
titude of  cases ;  but  it  is  just  when  they  thus  do 
coincide  that  the  differences  which  distinguish  them 
are  most  clearly  displayed.  Self-love  counsels,  duty 
commands.  The  first  looks  only  to  the  greatest  satis- 
faction of  our  nature,  and  remains  personal  even  while 
prompting  us  to  do  good  to  others ;  the  second  regards 
order  alone,  and  is  forgetful  of  self,  even  while  it 
prescribes  the  search  of  our  own  good.  We  obey 
ourselves  in  yielding  to  the  former  ;  but  in  obeying  the 
latter,  we  submit  to  something  above  self,  and  which 
has  no  other  character  in  our  eyes  but  that  of  being 
good,  or,  in  other  words,  a  law.  In  the  latter  case, 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      49 

e  .'U,  z~ 

then,  there  is  self-devotion  to  something  not  ourselves, 
while  in   the   first   there   can  be  no  devotion.      The 
devotion  of   a  being  to    something   not    itself,  which 
seems  to  it  good,  is  precisely  what  we  mean  by  virtue 
or  moral  good ;    and  hence  you  see  that  moral  good 
or    virtue    could    never    be    manifested    except    in    a 
mind  which  has   attained  to  the  third  state,  and  that 
it   is   a   phenomenon   peculiar   to    this    mode   of   self- 
determination.      Our    acts    are    moral    whenever   wex 
obey,   voluntarily   and   consciously,    a  law   as  the  rule 
of  our  conduct,  and  immoral  whenever  we  disobey  it  j  "~ 
purposely    and   wilfully.       Such    are   moral  good    and/f    *"*"* 
evil,  strictly  defined.     They  are  entirely  distinct  S 
absolute  good  and  evil,  which  are  order  and  disorder;  } 
and  equally  distinct  from  the  kinds  of  good  and  evil 
which  we  call  happiness  or  misery,  and  which  consist 
in    the    accomplishment   of    man's    peculiar    end,    or 
the  fulfilment  of  order  in  relation  to  him. 

This  difference  between  the  moral  mode  of  self- 
determination  and  the  two  others  reappears  in  the 
phenomena  which  follow  this  act  of  choice.  Among 
these  phenomena  is  one  especially  characteristic  of  the 
moral  state.  Whenever  we  comply  with  the  requisi- 
tions of  the  moral  law,  independent  of  all  pleasure 
which  sensibility  experiences,  we  judge  ourselves 
worthy  of  esteem  or  reward ;  and,  in  the  opposite 
case,  independent  of  pain,  we  condemn  ourselves 
as  worthy  of  blame  and  punishment.  This  is  called 
the  satisfaction  of  having  done  well,  and  the  pain 
of  having  done  ill,  or  remorse. 

This  judgment  of  merit  or  demerit  necessarily 
follows  every  act  which  has  a  moral  character,  whether 

VOL.    I.  K 


50  JOUFFROY. 

good  or  bad.  It  does  not  and  cannot  follow  the  two 
first  described  modes  of  volition.  When  we  have 
acted  contrary  to  well-understood  self-interest,  we  may 
lament  our  feebleness  and  want  of  skill,  or,  in  the 
opposite  case,  may  congratulate  ourselves  on  our 
prudence,  wisdom,  tact.  But  these  phenomena  are 
quite  distinct  from  moral  approbation  or  disapproba- 
tion. No  one  feels  remorse  for  having  failed  in 
securing  his  interests.  It  is  only  when  self-interest 
is  united  to  the  idea  of  order,  and  when  our  conduct, 
by  losing  a  good,  seems  in  so  doing  to  violate  this 
order,  that  remorse  follows  imprudence.  It  is  a 
consequence  of  this  last  consideration  only,  never 
of  the  first.  I  do  not  condemn,  you  see,  self-interest; 
on  the  contrary,  I  prove  that  it  is  lawful  as  an 
element  of  order,  and  I  make  it  in  many  cases  a 
duty.  But  this  character  it  does  not  possess  in  itself; 
it  derives  it  from  absolute  good.  Such  are  the 
phenomena  which  follow  a  moral  action,  whether 
good  or  evil. 

This  outline  would  not  be  complete  without  adding 
two  observations,  which  sum  up  the  whole  matter. 

To  what  end  do  our  primitive  tendencies,  and  the 
passions  arising  from  them,  tend  ?  To  the  true  end 
of  our  nature,  our  true  good.  How  is  our  conduct 
directed  by  self-interest  well  understood?  To  the 
fullest  possible  realization  of  the  tendencies  of  our 
nature ;  that  is  to  say,  the  most  perfect  accomplishment 
of  our  end  or  good.  What  does  the  law  of  order, 
when  it  finally  appears  in  us,  prescribe?  A  respect 
for  absolute  good,  or  order,  and  an  effort  to  realize 
it  completely.  But  our  good  is  an  element  of  absolute 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN  S    MORAL    NATURE.  51 

good,  of  order.  The  law  of  absolute  order,  then, 
commands  the  accomplishment  of  that  very  good 
which  nature  craves  and  self-love  recommends.  True, 
it  is  not  with  a  view  to  ourselves,  but  to  universal 
order,  that  it  commands  this;  true,  it  demands  not 
only  our  own  good,  but  the  good  of  others  also.  But, 
on  the  one  hand,  our  nature  loves  order,  and  in- 
stinctively seeks  the  good  of  others;  and,  on  the 
other,  self-love  shows  us  that  the  enjoyments  of  beauty 
and  of  benevolence  are  two  chief  elements  of  happi- 
ness, and  that  respect  for  the  interests  of  others  and 
for  order  must  enter  into  the  calculations  of  our  own 
private  interest.  There  is,  then,  no  contradiction, 
but  an  entire  harmony,  between  the  primitive  ten- 
dencies of  our  nature,  self-interest  well  understood, 
and  the  moral  law.  These  three  principles  do  not 
impel  us  in  a  different,  but  in  the  same  direction. 
The  moral  motive  does  not  enter  to  destroy  the  other 
two,  but  to  explain  their  object  and  regulate  their 
course.  Indeed,  how  could  man  direct  himself  aright, 
if  he  was  condemned  to  the  constant  conflicts  which 
some  philosophers  have  imagined,  —  if  he  was  com- 
pelled by  an  obligatory  principle,  conceived  by  the 
reason,  to  sacrifice  continually,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  virtuous,  both  the  impulses  of  natural 
instinct,  and  the  counsels  of  prudence  1  None  could 
be  virtuous  on  these  conditions.  Most  true,  the  end 
of  virtue  is  distinct  from  that  of  self-love  and  of 
passion ;  but  these  ends  are  not  opposed  to  each 
other :  they  are  entirely  in  accordance ;  and  hence 
may  every  virtue  find  an  auxiliary  in  passion  and 
self-interest.  And  hence,  also,  in  very  many  cases, 


52  JOUFFROY. 

instinct  and  self-love  impel  us  to  the  very  course 
which  the  moral  law  requires.  Thus  is  it  with  the 
child,  and  even  with  the  majority  of  men ;  and  it 
is  through  this  agreement  of  passion  and  self-interest 
with  duty  that  societies  subsist.  For,  if  every  act, 
not  performed  with  direct  reference  to  duty,  was, 
on  that  account,  opposed  to  the  moral  law,  and  at 
variance  with  order,  communities  could  not  only  not 
endure,  but  they  would  never  be  even  established. 

We  must  renounce,  then,  these  false  views,  and  look 
at  things  as  they  are.  Reason  only  modifies  man's 
obedience  to  his  passions  and  his  interest,  and  in  this 
manner.  As  reason,  under  the  influence  of  self-love, 
makes  known  to  our  nature  one  general  end,  which  in- 
cludes the  various  ends  of  particular  passions,  and  which 
consequently  deserves  the  preference  —  thus  preventing 
the  former  blind  obedience  of  the  will  to  passion ;  so 
reason,  under  the  influence  of  morality,  reveals,  beyond 
our  private  good,  an  absolute  good,  which  at  once 
comprises  this  and  the  good  of  all  other  beings  also, 
and  which,  therefore,  is  far  to  be  preferred  —  thus 
preventing  the  narrow  and  exclusive  pursuit  of  our 
x  own  well-being.  And,  as  the  impulse  of  passion 
was  seen  to  be  of  an  inferior  order,  when  that  of 
self-interest  well  understood  appeared,  so  self-interest 
falls  in  the  scale,  when  the  motive  of  moral  law 
reveals  itself.  But,  because  the  moral  motive  is 
better  than  self-love,  self-love  is  not  therefore  de- 
stroyed, any  more  than  passion  is  rooted  out  because 
self-interest  is  seen  to  be  superior.  The  desire  and 
pursuit  of  self-interest  still  remain  after  absolute 
good  is  made  known  to  us,  as  the  impulse  of  passion 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  53; 

remains  after  self-interest  is  comprehended.  When 
self-love,  therefore,  cannot  see  the  prospect  of  private 
benefit  in  the  course  which  respect  for  absolute  good 
demands,  as  when  passion  is  restrained  from  seeking 
its  end  immediately  by  the  counsels  of  interest,  dis- 
agreement enters  among  the  various  springs  of 
conduct;  and,  though  we  still  see  what  it  is  best 
for  us  to  do,  we  are  not  always  prudent  or  virtuous 
enough  to  do  it.  Behold  what  these  contests  between 
the  three  moving  springs  of  conduct  amount  to ! 
They  are,  in  general,  the  effect  of  the  blindness 
of  passion,  or  of  the  mistakes  of  self-love  ;  for,  in 
fact,  it  is  most  for  the  interest  of  passion  to  sacrifice 
itself  to  self-love,  and  most  for  the  interest  of  self-love 
to  sacrifice  itself  to  order. 

Thus  far  I  have  spoken  of  the  three  states  of  the 
moral  nature  in  man,  as  if  they  belonged  to  three  differ- 
ent periods  of  life  —  as  if  they  were  produced  in  us 
successively.  But  this  is  not  exactly  a  true  description, 
and  some  further  explanation  is  needed.  First,  then, 
no  one  of  these  three  modes  of  determination  destroys 
in  its  development  those  previously  in  operation,  but 
only  superadds  its  influence  to  them ;  so  that,  when 
once  called  into  action,  they  henceforth  coexist  And, 
secondly,  as  to  the  order  of  their  appearance,  although 
it  is  true  that  the  passionate  mode  does  precede, 
chronologically,  the  other  two,  and  reigns  supreme 
in  infancy,  it  would  still  be  difficult  to  prove  a  like 
supreme  control  of  the  selfish  and  moral  state  suo 
cessively. 

Reason  first  shows  itself  at  an  early  period;  but 
no  one  would  be  bold  enough  to  assert  that  she 


54  JOUFFROY. 

rises  at  once  to  that  high  conception  of  order,  which 
makes  the  moral  law.  Yet  more;  we  all  know 
that,  in  the  larger  part  of  mankind,  this  conception 
of  the  moral  law  is  never  distinctly  formed  at  all. 
We  are  brought,  therefore,  to  the  conclusion,  that 
f  Vr-  there  is,  no  morality  in  any  man  until  after  a  certain 
age,  anilTtKht,  in  the  majority  of  men,  there  is  none 
at  any  time.  But  we  must  distinguish  here  a  confused 
from  a  clear  view  of  the  moral  law.  A  confused 
view  of  it  is  contemporaneous  with  the  first  appear- 
ance of  reason  :  it  is  one  of  man's  earliest  concep- 
tions ;  but  in  most  persons  the  conception  remains 
indistinct  through  life,  and  never  becomes  a  vivid 
idear*?  Conscience,  as  it  is  called,  is  nothing  more 
than  this  obscure  notion  of  order ;  and  hence,  in  its 
effects,  it  resembles  less  a  conception  of  the  reason 
than  an  instinct  or  a  sense.  Its  judgments  have 
not  the  appearance  of  being  derived  from  general 
principles  applied  to  cases  as  they  arise;  but  they 
rather  seem  to  result  from  a  kind  of  tact,  which, 
in  each  particular  instance,  makes  rt  sensible  of  good 
and  evil.  The  character  of  obligation,  however, 
is  never,  in  the  phenomena  of  conscience,  affected 
by  the  confused  nature  of  our  perceptions  of  good 
and  evil.  However  confused  our  views,  conscience 
still  points  out  good  as  something  which  we  ought 
to  do,  and  evil  as  something  which  we  ought  to 
shun ;  and,  when  we  have  obeyed  or  disobeyed  it, 
we  feel  as  sensibly  self-approval  or  remorse  as  if  we 
had  obeyed  a  more  elevated  conception  and  a  clearer 
idea  of  the  moral  law.  Thus  conscience,  or  the 
confused  view  of  order,  is  sufficient  to  make  men 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.       55 

practically  virtuous  or  vicious,  criminals  or  heroes ; 
though  he,  who  conceives  most  distinctly  the  law  and 
its  sacred  obligation,  is  the  most  culpable,  because  he 
transgresses  it  most  consciously.  Not  without  reason, 
then,  does  human  justice  make  distinctions  between 
culprits,  and  apply  punishments  proportioned  in  severity 
to  the  supposed  development  of  intelligence,  and  con- 
sequently to  the  degree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 
From  these  details  you  will  see  that  reason,  as  soon 
as  it  is  developed,  introduces  at  one  and  the  same 
time  the  motive  of  self-love  and  of  morality ;  and  thus 
that  these  two  modes  of  self-determination,  which  I 
have  separated  for  the  sake  of  accurate  description, 
are  really  contemporaneous.  ©n  the  other  hand, 
remember  that  reason  does  not  abolish  the  passionate 
mode,  which  is  supreme  in  infancy.  Dating,  then, 
from  the  birth  of  reason,  human  life  is  a  series  of  alter- 
nations from  one  to  the  other  of  these  three  states 
of  the  moral  nature,  according  to  the  degree  in  which 
passion,  self-love,  or  the  moral  law,  gains  sway  over  our 
will,  and  presides  in  our  decisions.  No  period  of  life 
is  free  from  these  alternations.  Men  are  marked  in 
character  by  the  frequency  with  which  one  or  the 
other  of  these  motives  triumphs.  Some  yield  to 
passion  habitually,  and  are  passionate  men ;  others 
follow  interest  well  understood,  and  are  lovers  of  self; 
others  again  obey  the  moral  law,  and  are  virtuous. 
According  to  the  prevalence  in  our  habits  of  mind,  of 
one  or  the  other  of  these  modes  of  choice,  does  man 
assume  a  moral  character.  No  one  obeys,  exclusively 
and  constantly,  one  or  the  other ;  however  strong  the 
habitual  predominance  of  either,  the  other  two  always 


56  JOUFFROY. 

control  some  of  our  volitions.  Yet  more ;  in  far  the 
greater  number  of  cases  all  three  concur  and  cooper- 
ate through  the  force  of  that  harmony  which  funda- 
mentally unites  them ;  and  acts  produced  by  one  or 
the  other  exclusively  are  extremely  rare.  Thus  man 
is  never  wholly  virtuous,  nor  wholly  selfish,  nor  wholly 
passionate  ;  and  whichever  spring  may  seem  to  move 
his  conduct,  the  secret  impulse  of  the  others  is  more 
or  less  blended  with  it. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  those  facts  of  man's  moral 
nature  which  I  have  in  former  courses  exhibited  to 
you.  In  the  light  of  these  facts,  you  will  easily  com- 
prehend, I  trust,  the  different  systems  of  moral  phi- 
losophy which  have  denied  the  existence  of  a  law  of 
obligation,  and  you  will  detect  without  difficulty  the 
sources  of  their  different  errors.  But  so  important  is 
it  that  you  should  have  a  clear  understanding  of  the 
psychology  of  man's  moral  nature,  that  I  shall  resume 
the  consideration  of  these  facts  in  my  next  lecture. 


RELIGION.  57 


LECTURE   III. 


THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

As  the  ideas  of  right  and  of  duty  imply  that 
of  law,  and  as  the  idea  of  law  implies  that  of  obliga- 
tion, it  is  plain  that  the  question,  Whether  there  are 
any  rights  or  duties,  returns  to  the  question,  Whether 
there  is  any  law  of  obligation,  or,  to  abridge  the 
expression,  any  law ;  for  the  word  law  necessarily 
carries  with  it  the  idea  of  obligation.  Before  inquiring 
what  our  duties  and  rights  are,  and  in  what  they 
consist,  it  is  indispensable,  then,  first  to  consider  these 
two  questions- — "Is  there  a  law  of  obligation  ?  and, 
if  so,  what  is  it?"  It  would  still  have  been  proper 
to  decide  these  questions,  even  if  there  had  never 
existed  philosophers  who  have  replied  to  the  first  in 
the  negative,  or  who,  in  their  attempts  to  answer  the 
second,  have  disagreed  as  to  the  nature  of  this  obliga- 
tory law,  whose  existence  they  yet  recognized.  But 
since  certain  .philosophers  have  denied  that  there  is 
any  law  of  obligation,  and  since  those  who  have 
admitted  its  existence  have  given  many  and  diverse 
accounts  of  its  nature,  it  is  evident  that  the  considera- 
tion and  solution  of  these  questions  cannot  be  dispensed 


68  JOUFFROV. 

with.  For  if  the  philosophers  who  deny  the  existence 
of  the  law  are  right,  we  need  examine  no  further  as  to 
our  duties  and  rights;  and  we  can  in  no  way  deter- 
mine what  these  rights  and  duties  are,  if,  after  having 
satisfied  ourselves  that  there  is  such  a  law,  we  still 
hesitate  as  to  its  nature,  and  make  no  choice  among 
systems  which  have  arrived  at  different  results,  in  this 
attempt  to  describe  it. 

The  systems  based  on  false  principles  of  ethics  may 
be  divided  into  three  classes.  One  class  maintains 
that  there  can  be  no  law  of  obligation,  while  a  second 
asserts  that  there  really  is  none.  These  two  classes 
deny  the  possibility  of  ethical  science.  A  third  class 
destroys  the  law  by  altering  its  nature  ;  it  comprises  the 
systems  which,  though  they  admit  an  obligatory  law, 
yet  do  not  recognize  it  as  it  is,  but  variously  disfigure 
it.  The  common  result  of  such  mutilations  is  to  de- 
stroy it ;  for  there  can  be  but  one  law  of  obligation, 
and  every  system  that  substitutes  another,  attributes 
to  this  false  law  the  character  of  obligation,  which, 
according  to  the  nature  of  our  minds,  attaches  only  to 
the  true  law.  Thus  in  different  ways  do  these  three 
classes  of  systems  equally  destroy  the  law  of  obliga- 
tion, and  consequently  all  duty  and  all  right  —  the 
whole  science  of  ethics. 

Such,  neither  more  nor  less,  are  the  classes  of  sys- 
tems to  be  examined ;  and,  for  the  purposes  of  this 
examination,  we  must  solve  the  proposed  question  — 
"  Is  there  a  law  of  obligation,  and,  if  so,  what  is  it  ?  " 

It  cannot  escape  you  that  these  are  questions  of  fact, 
and  not  abstract  ones,  to  be  solved  by  reasoning.  Man 
exists ;  he  chooses ;  he  acts  ;  he  is  impelled  by  such 


THE    FACTS    OF   MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  59 

and  such  motives.  Among  these  motives  is  there  one 
which  has  the  character  of  a  law?  This  is  the  first 
question.  If  there  is,  What  is  that  motive,  its  nature 
and  character  1  This  is  the  second.  Both  are  ques- 
tions of  fact. 

Hence  you  will  see,  that  to  answer  these  two  pri- 
mary questions,  on  which  the  whole  science  of  ethics 
depends,  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  to  esti- 
mate rightly  the  truth  of  these  systems,  which  have 
denied  or  disfigured  this  science,  we  must  observe 
the  facts  of  man's  moral  nature ;  and  therefore  have  I 
attempted  to  sketch  the  great  outlines,  though  not  the 
details  of  these  facts. 

.Such  was  the  single  object  of  my  last  lecture.  I 
owe  you,  before  proceeding  further,  a  short  explanation 
of  the  expression,  the  moral  facts  of  human  nature. 
To  avoid  misapprehension,  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
that  we  should  understand  perfectly  the  expression 
made  use  of,  and  determine  precisely  the  acceptation 
of  the  words. 

There  is  no  morality  in  human  nature,  unless  man  is 
free  and  subject  to  a  law  of  obligation.  Destroy  duty, 
or  the  possibility  of  directing  ourselves  by  it,  and  you 
destroy  all  morality ;  for  a  conformity  of  the  resolves 
of  the  will  to  the  obligatory  law  of  duty,  is  precisely 
what  constitutes  morality.  Other  than  this  there  is 
none.  Thus,  in  its  true  acceptation,  morality  signifies 
the  conformity  of  our  resolves  to  the  law  of  duty. 
When  this  conformity  exists  in  any  act,  the  agent  is 
moral ;  when  it  does  not  exist,  the  act  and  agent  are 
immoral. 

This  is  the  exact  meaning  of  the  word  morality ;  and 


60  JQUFFROY. 

from  this  comes  the  epithet  moral.  It  is  in  a  rather 
more  enlarged  sense,  however,  that  I  call  the  facts 
•which  I  have  exhibited  to  you,  moral.  Analogy  seems 
to  me  to  justify  my  use  of  the  word.  If  there  is  any 
thincr  moral  in  human  volitions,  it  will  be  found  in 

o  * 

the  phenomena  which  precede  and  are  associated  with 
them,  or,  in  other  words,  which  concur  to  produce  them. 
All  these  facts  may,  then,  in  an  enlarged  sense,  be 
called  moral  facts,  inasmuch  as  among  them  are  to  be 
found  those  which  especially  constitute  morality.  In 
my  last  lecture,  I  described,  as  moral  facts,  all  phe- 
nomena in  any  way  connected  with  our  volitions,  not 
limiting  the  application  of  the  term  to  those  which 
constitute,  strictly  speaking,  morality.  And  it  is  in 
this  sense,  as  I  have  now  denned  it,  that  you  will 
please,  then,  to  understand  the  expression. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  after  what  I  have  said  in  the 
commencement  of  this  lecture  as  to  the  impossibility 
of  solving  the  two  questions  —  "  Is  there  a  law  of  obli- 
gation ?  and,  if  so,  what  is  it  1  "  and  the  equal  impos- 
sibility of  correctly  appreciating  the  systems  which 
have  replied  in  the  negative  to  the  first,  and  wrongly 
answered  the  second,  without  reference  to  the  moral 
facts  of  human  nature,  that  is  to  say,  without  knowing 
how  the  will  is  really  determined  in  man  —  after  this, 
you  will  feel  that  it  is  highly  important  to  comprehend 
clearly  the  whole  process  of  our  volitions,  and  the 
function  of  each  element  which  concurs  to  produce 
them.  Unless  you  keep  this  process  before  your 
minds,  and  comprehend  clearly  all  its  springs,  it  is 
impossible  that  you  should  arrive  at  a  satisfactory 
solution  of  these  questions,  or  a  correct  understanding 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  61 

of  the  systems.  I  wish,  then,  to  go  over  again,  though 
in  a  different  manner,  the  grand  outlines  of  the  picture, 
which  I  have  presented  to  you  in  my  last  lecture. 

When  I  reflect  upon  the  effect  which  my  rapid 
sketch  may  have  produced  on  the  minds  of  those  who 
have  not  attended  my  former  courses,  it  seems  to  me 
a  duty,  if  I  wish  to  be  comprehended,  to  draw  these 
outlines  yet  more  distinctly.  Once  agreed  upon  what 
really  does  pass  within  us  in  the  process  of  volition, 
and  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  distinctly  compre- 
hending the  various  systems.  They  will  have  no 
obscurity  for  you.  You  will  see  how,  in  the  real  facts 
of  our  moral  nature,  pretexts  may  be  found  for  each 
and  every  system ;  how  each  and  all  have,  in  some 
way,  mutilated  these  facts ;  and  how,  in  different  ways, 
and  through  various  illusions,  they  arrive  at  erroneous 
results. 

Were  the  principles  of  human  nature  which  concur 
to  produce  our  volitions  all  developed  at  birth,  and 
were  not  some  of  them  delayed,  there  would  be  but 
one  moral  state  for  a  human  soul.  But  as,  among 
these  elements,  there  are  two,  which  are  not  developed 
until  an  advanced  period  of  life,  we  do  not,  upon 
examination,  find  man's  moral  condition  always  the 
same  ;  and  thus  are  we  enabled  to  distinguish  different 
moral  periods. 

Hence,  in  my  last  lecture,  I  was  led  to  describe 
a  first,  second,  and  third  moral  state;  in  other 
words,  three  distinct  modes  of  volition  —  the  primi- 
tive, the  selfish,  and  the  moral  mode,  properly  so 
called ;  in  which  latter,  the  law  of  obligation,  not 

VOL.    I.  F 


62  JOUFFROY. 

observable  in  the  two  former,  first  makes  its  ap- 
pearance. 

Notwithstanding  the  differences  which  distinguish 
these  three  states  of  the  moral  nature,  their  elements 
are  neither  numerous  nor  difficult  to  seize.  Four 
principles  of  human  nature  alone  concur  to  produce 
them,  and  if  we  can  but  disengage  the  functions 
of  these  different  elements  in  each  of  the  three  states, 
we  shall  gain  a  sufficiently  precise  notion  of  the 
process  of  volition. 

These  four  principles  of  human  nature  are,  the 
instinctive  and  primitive  tendencies,  as  I  have  called 
them ;  the  faculties  adapted  to  these ;  will,  or  the 
power  of  directing  our  faculties ;  and,  lastly,  reason, 
or  the  power  of  comprehension. 

And  now  I  wish  you  to  see,  clearly,  which  of  ^these 
principles  are  active  in  each  state,  and  what  are  the 
functions  they  fulfil.  To  this  point,  therefore,  I  now 
once  more  invite  your  attention. 

Human  nature,  having  an  organization  peculiar  to 
itself,  is,  by  this  organization,  destined  to  a  peculiar 
end.  Life  begins  with  the  instinctive  movement 
which  impels  human  nature  towards  its  end.  This 
instinctive  movement  is  not  simple,  but  complex; 
in  other  words,  it  is  made  up  of  several  instinctive 
movements,  each  of  which  has  its  peculiar  object, 
the  aggregate  of  which  objects  forms  the  true  end 
of  man  —  his  highest  good.  These  instinctive  move- 
ments are  developed  in  our  earliest  existence ;  for, 
should  a  moment  elapse  between  the  commencement 
of  our  existence  and  their  development,  it  would  be 


THE    PACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  63 

a  moment  when  we  were  existing  indeed,  but  not 
living.  But  man  must  live  as  soon  as  he  exists, 
and  it  is  his  life  to  aspire  towards  his  end.  From 
the  first  moment  of  existence,  we  feel  awakening 
within  us  all  the  instincts  with  which  our  nature 
is  gifted ;  in  other  words,  all  the  desires  which 
result  from  our  organization;  and  these  instincts 
and  desires  seek  blindly  each  its  peculiar  object. 
Such  is  the  action  of  the  instinctive  tendencies  of 
our  nature ;  and  not  for  one  moment  of  existence 
is  this  development,  which  commences  with  life, 
suspended ;  it  remains  even  in  sleep ;  the  moving 
springs  of  human  activity  are  the  same  whether  we 
sleep  or  wake;  their  action  is  unintermitted. 

Thus,  as  I  have  said,  are  the  primitive  tendencies 
the  moving  springs  of  our  activity ;  they  constitute 
our  moving  force.  In  fact,  it  is  by  them  that  our 
nature  is  prompted,  and  its  faculties  put  in  operation ; 
for  the  final  end  of  the  activity  of  our  faculties  is  the 
satisfaction  of  the  permanent  and  primitive  desires, 
at  once  instinctive  and  blind,  which  manifest  in  the 
form  of  passion  the  cravings  of  »ur  nature,  explain 
its  characteristic  properties,  and  reveal  the  end  for 
which  it  is  destined. 

It  cannot  be,  then,  that  the  element  of  our  primitive 
and  instinctive  tendencies  should  be  wanting  in  either 
of  the  three  moral  states  described.  It  appears  in  all, 
though  supreme  only  in  the  first. 

Such  is  the  first  of  the  four  principles  which  concur 
in  producing  our  volitions  ;  we  may  call  it  the  main 
spring  —  the  moving  force  within  us. 

The  second  element  or  principle  of  our  nature  which 


64  JOUFFROY. 

influences  our  volition  is  that  to  which  I  have  given 
the  general  name  of  faculties.  Had  the  Creator 
assio-ned  man  an  end,  and  implanted  an  irresistible 
desire  to  attain  it,  without  having  placed  in  human 
nature  the  faculties  needed  as  instruments  for  its 
satisfaction,  and  fitted  to  realize  the  end,  it  would  have 
been  a  contradiction  of  his  own  work.  There  is  an 
absolute  necessity,  therefore,  that,  beside  the  primitive 
tendencies  impelling  us  to  our  end,  we  should  possess 
certain  faculties  or  instruments  enabling  us  to  gain 
it.  These  faculties  constitute  the  second  of  the 
four  elements  to  which  I  am  now  directing  your 
attention. 

We  must  not  confound  the  faculties  which  are  the 
executive  power  within  us,  with  the  free  will  which 
controls  this  power,  guiding  its  direction.  There  is 
a  period  in  the  life  of  man,  and  perhaps  a  prolonged 
one,  when  there  is  no  sovereign  power  within  him, 
if  I  may  say  so;  that  is  to  say,  when  the  self-direction 
of  our  faculties,  which  constitutes  liberty,  does  not  as 
yet  exist.  During  the  early  years  of  childhood,  we 
exercise  no  government  at  all  over  our  faculties,  and 
^•^  to  those  succeed  others,  when  we  can  hardly  be  said  to 

govern  them.  These  instruments  are  still,  however, 
vitally  acting ;  only  they  act  independently  of  us,  or, 
what  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  without  our  will's 
impressing  upon  them  any  direction,  .and  under  the 
sole  impulse  of  our  tendencies.  Quite  distinct,  then, 
are  our  faculties,  or  the  executive  force,  as  I  have 
called  it,  from  the  power  of  will,  whose  function  it  is  to 
direct  them.  The  faculties  exist  independently  of  the 
will  in  the  early  period  of  life ;  and  this  independence 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN?S    MORAL    NATURE.  65 

is  more  or  less  manifested  in  every  era  of  human 
existence. 

The  faculties  of  human  nature  never  sleep  ;  never 
cease  to  act.  As  our  instinctive  tendencies  constantly 
impel  us  to  act,  so  our  faculties  are  always  in  some  sort 
of  movement  and  action.  But  it  is  not  thus  with  the 
will.  Not  only  do  we  not  .govern  our  faculties  in  the 
early  period  of  life,  but  we  often  intermit  our  control 
at  all  periods.  Not  seldom  it  happens,  then,  that  even 
in  the  mature  man,  nothing  intervenes  between  the 
passions  which  impel,  and  the  faculties  or  executive 
part  of  our  nature ;  but  the  first  acts  directly  upon 
the  second.  This  phenomenon  occurs  in  many  cases 
when  strong  passions  appeal  suddenly  to  the  faculties, 
or  when  our  will,  tired  of  its  efforts,  suspends  for  a, 
time  its  oversight  and  government.  The  will  is  an 
intermittent  power,  while  the  faculties  act  incessantly 
with  various  degrees  of  energy  or  feebleness. 

You  see,  therefore,  that  our  faculties,  or  the  execu-? 
tive  part  of  our  nature,  like  OUT  primitive  tendencies, 
are  ever  in  movement ;  but  their  power  may  take  two 
different  directions,  according  as  they  are  acted  upon 
immediately  by  the  passions,  as  in  the  primitive  state, 
or  by  the  will — the  sovereign  part  of  our  nature, 
which  is  not  developed  till  later,  and  whose  action, 
even  then,  is  sometimes  intermitted.  Free  will  pre- 
supposes reason,  and  comes  only  with  reason ;  and 
when  these  two  principles  are  introduced  between  the 
instinctive  impulses  of  our  nature  and  our  faculties, 
our  moral  condition  is  wholly  changed. 

It  remains  now  to  be  seen  what  part  these  two  prin- 
ciples act  in  the  process  of  volition  ;  for,  adding  these 

F2 


66  JOUFFROY. 

two  principles  to  our  instinctive  impulses  and  to  our 
faculties,  we  have  all  the  elements  .which  concur  to 
produce  our  acts  of  will. 

We  do  not  know  d  priori  that  we  are  endowed  with 
the  power  of  governing  and  directing  our  faculties. 
We  are,  indeed,  wholly  ignorant  of  it,  and  we  should 
never  learn  the  fact  without  experience.  In  the  early 
period  of  life  there  are  no  signs  .of  our  capacity  of 
self-control.  Our  faculties,  as  I  have  before  said,  are, 
then,  wholly  under  the  direction  of  impulse,  which, 
craving  certain  objects,  and  aspiring  to  certain  ends, 
impels  them  in  the  direction  that  will  gratify  their 
desire  without  our  intervention.  As  one  of  our 
passions  or  another  may  be  strongest,  and  may  sway 
the  others,  so  all  our  faculties  take  the  direction 
which  it  prescribes ;  but  the  moment  another,  yet 
stronger,  rises,  our  faculties  quit  their  first  direction, 
and  obediently  follow  a  new  one. 

In  the  conduct  of  chHdren,  this  vacillation  is 
constantly  noticed.  Nothing  is  more  variable  than 
the  relative  force  of  .our  different  passions;  and, 
as  our  faculties  fall  necessarily  under  the  sway  of 
the  strongest,  there  cannot  but  be,  in  the  choice  of 
children,  this  unceasing  fluctuation.  It  manifests 
itself  in  their  looks,  gestures,  thoughts,  and  gives 
them  their  peculiar  charm  and  character.  Yet  in 
this  primitive  life  is  it  that  our  power  over  our  facul- 
ties is  first  revealed,  and  in  "the  manner  described  in 
jny  last  lecture,  which  I  will  now  recapitulate. 

Whatever  the  object  towards  which  instinctive 
tendency  impels  us,  and  which  our  faculties  are 
constrained  to  seek,  it  cannot  be  obtained  without 


THE    FACTS    OF   MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  67 

difficulty ;  always  some  obstacle  prevents  the  imme- 
diate gratification  of  the  passion.  What  then?  Our 
faculties,  finding  themselves  made  powerless  by  this 
obstacle,  concentrate  themselves  spontaneously  to 
overcome  it ;  or,  in  other  words,  their  united  power 
is  brought  to  bear  on  this  one  point,  where  they 
have  encountered  resistance. 

Hence  is  the  revelation  of  our  power  of  control 
over  our  faculties.  When,  in  the  depths  of  our 
nature,  we  become  conscious  that  our  diffused  powers 
are  uniting  and  concentrating  upon  a  single  point, 
we  feel  at  the  same  time  that  we  can  at  will  reproduce 
and  repeat  that  concentration.  Feeling  that  we  have 
this  power,  we  exercise  it,  and  our  sovereign  force, 
our  will,  appears.  Experience  has  revealed  to  us 
our  power ;  but  for  this  we  should  never  have 
learned  iU 

In  the  primitive  state,  which  I  have  been  describing, 
the  power  of  the  will  then  first  shows  itself.  But 
this  power,  not  being  directed  by  the  reason,  which 
as  yet  has  not  awakened,  produces  only  transient 
and  slight  effects.  When  passion  demands  eagerly 
its  satisfaction,  and  our  faculties  find  difficulties  in 
obtaining  it,  then  do  our  powers  concentrate  them- 
selves. But  when  a  yet  stronger  passion  summons 
our  faculties,  or  when  the  obstacle  in  the  way 
demands  fatiguing  exertion  for  its  removal,  the 
spring  is  relaxed,  and  concentration  ceases.  In  other 
words,  will,  being  as  yet  only  instinctive,  and  having 
no  rational  motive  on  which  to  rely,  is  uncertain 
arid  vacillating;  it  can  endure  but  little;  its  efforts 


68  JOUFFROY. 

are  small;  it  does  scarcely  more  than  show  itself; 
and,  that  it  may  be  developed  and  produce  great 
results,  reason  must  come  to  its  aid. 

Here,  then,  are  three  principles  concurring  to 
produce  volition ;  —  first,  the  motive  power,  or  the 
primitive  tendencies  of  our  nature ;  second,  the 
executive  power,  or  our  faculties ;  third,  the  govern- 
ing power,  or  the  will,  that  is  to  say,  the  power 
of  directing  our  faculties. 

A  fourth  principle  is  that  which  I  call  reason,  or 
the  power  of  comprehension. 

I  have  said,  gentlemen,  that,  when  reason  first 
appears,  it  finds  in  us  the  three  other  principles 
already  active.  From  the  first  moment  of  existence, 
man  is  conscious  of  desires,  instincts,  and  passions, 
developing  within  him ;  his  faculties  begin  to  act 
under  the  impulse  of  his  desires,  and,  whenever 
they  encounter  resistance,  are  concentrated  sponta- 
neously —  thus  betraying,  by  their  involuntary  action, 
the  fact  that  they  may  be  governed.  But,  thus  far, 
they  have  been  combated  only  by  the  passions ; 
they  have  been  enslaved  by  the  strongest  impulse  J 
nothing  has  modified  or  limited  the  empire  of  the 
instincts  over  them.  When  reason  appears,  this 
slavery  ceases ;  -for  in  place  of  an  impulse  of  passion 
is  substituted,  not  a  new  impulse,  but  —  observe  the 
word,  which  in  all  languages  is  the  same  —  a  motive. 
Heretofore,  our  actions  have  been  determined  by  a 
blind  and  mechanical  impulse;  but,  from  the  moment 
when  reason  appears,  whether,  it  gives  counsel  or 
imposes  laws,  man  acts  from  a  motive.  A  new 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      69 

principle  comes  in  to  take  part  in,  and  modify,  the 
process  of  volition.  The  operation  of  this  principle 
I  will  now  proceed  to  show. 

Reason  does  two  things.  In  the  first  place,  ob- 
serving what  passes  within  us,  it  comprehends 
that  all  our  tendencies,  as  they  develop,  demand 
satisfaction ;  and,  generalizing  the  idea  of  this  satis- 
faction, it  comprehends  that  this  is  our  good,  ©n 
the  other  hand,  it  remarks  that,  when  abandoned 
to  itself,  our  nature  succeeds  but  ill  in  attaining 
the  highest  possible  satisfaction  of  our  instincts ; 
both  because  it  obeys  all  the  various  impulses  of  our 
passions,  and  because  it  does  not  persevere  sufficiently 
in  the  effort  to  satisfy  them.  Reason  must  introduce 
rules,  then,  into  the  conduct  of  our  faculties,  by 
ascertaining  the  supreme  end  which  they  should  seek, 
and  the  way  in  which  they  should  proceed  to  reach 
it.  This  reason  does;  on  the  one  side  it  rises 
to  the  idea  of  self-interest  well  understood,  and,  on 
the  other,  judges  of  the  conduct  most  proper  to 
realize  it.  In  view  of  this  end  proposed  for  its 
attainment,  and  of  the  course  to  be  pursued,  the 
will  prepares  to  act,  sets  free  our  faculties  from  the 
mechanical  impulse  of  our  tendencies,  and  governs 
them.  Motive  takes  the  place  of  impulse,  rule 
succeeds  to  force,  and  our  conduct,  from  being 
passionate,  blind,  instinctive,  as  it  was  at  first, 
becomes  deliberate  and  rational. 

Such  is  the  first  result  of  the  appearance  of  reason 
in  the  process  of  volition. 

It  is  plain,  that,  if  reason  had  no  other  function 
than  thus  to  comprehend  the  end  of  our  tendencies, 


70  JOUFFROY. 

and  to  decide  upon  the  best  mode  of  accomplishing 
it,  there  would  be  no  law  of  obligation  for  us.  We 
do  not  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  satisfy  our  passions. 
When  reason  places  before  us  as  an  end  the  greatest 
satisfaction  of  our  tendencies,  it  counsels  our  self- 
interest  to  obtain  this  satisfaction ;  but  its  advice 
has  not  an  obligatory  character.  In  other  words, 
interest  well  understood,  as  estimated  by  reason,  is 
nothing  but  the  satisfaction  of  our  tendencies;  and 
never  does  self-interest,  to  any  mind,  come  clothed 
in  the  character  of  obligation.  Self-interest  is  not, 
indeed,  a  mechanical  impulse  of  passion.  It  is  a 
motive ;  but  it  is  not  a  law. 

Reason,  however,  does  not  stop  at  this  point  of 
self-interest.  It  goes  further,  and  introduces  a 
second  rational  element  into  our  volition.  This 
second  motive  is  the  idea  of  good.  Interest  well 
understood  is  the  conception  of  the  good  or  well- 
being  of  the  individual,  but  not  of  good  in  itself, 
absolute  good.  When  reason  first  perceives  that, 
as  there  is  a  good  for  us,  so  is  there  for  all  creatures 
whatsoever,  and  that  thus  the  particular  good  of  each 
creature  is  but  an  element  of  universal  order,  of 
absolute  good,  then  does  the  idea  of  good,  so  dis- 
engaged and  elevated  to  the  sphere  of  absolute  being, 
appear  to  our  reason  as  obligatory.  A  new  motive 
to  action,  a  new  principle  of  conduct,  is  revealed 
and  introduced.  This  principle  is  an  obligatory 
one  —  a  law.  Unless  this  principle  did  thus  appear, 
unless  this  idea  did  become  thus  disengaged  in  our 
minds  by  the  effort  of  reason,  the  word  morality 
would  have  no  meaning ;  there  would  be  no  duties, 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN*S  MORAL  NATURE.      71 

no  rights ;  the  science  of  ethics  would  be  a  vain 
pursuit ;  and  our  whole  object  in  life  would  be  to 
pursue  the  course  of  conduct  best  fitted  to  realize 
interest  well  understood.  When  I  examine  the 
opinions  of  those  who  assert  that  this  selfish  principle 
is  the  ultimate  and  final  one,  I  at  once  see  that  it 
is  impossible  to  deduce  from  self-interest  any  duty 
towards  other  beings.  We  cannot,  in  fact,  refer  to 
the  idea  of  personal  good  an  element  which  it  does 
not  include  —  the  idea  of  the  good  of  others;  neither 
can  we  explain  by  it  the  motive  which  impels  us  to 
seek  it. 

You  see,  then,  that  four  principles  of  our  nature 
cooperate  to  produce  our  volitions.  You  see  that, 
because  two  of  these  principles,  the  will  and  reason, 
are  developed  late,  and  because  reason  itself  has 
two  separate  states,  there  are  in  human  life  different 
and  distinct  moral  periods. 

During  the  first  of  these,  but  two  principles  are 
active  —  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  or  the  moving 
power,  and  the  faculties,  or  the  executive  power.  In 
this  period,  impulse  acts  directly  upon  our  faculties, 
and  the  latter  cannot  escape  its  influence. 

At  a  later  period,  the  empire  over  self  commences, 
yet  later  becoming  as  strong  as  we  could  wish  ;  and 
then,  between  our  impulses  and  our  faculties,  comes 
in  a  power  which  controls  the  latter,  and  forbids 
them  to  yield  to  passion  without  its  consent.  But 
that  this  power,  which  is  the  will,  may"  be  able  to 
refuse  its  consent  to  passionate  impulse,  it  must  have 
support.  And  it  finds  this  support  in  a  fourth  prin- 


72  JOUFFROY. 

ciple,  which  now  enters  ;  namely,  a  motive  or  reason 
for  acting,  which  is  not  an  impulse. 

Reason  is  the  source  of  this  new  element,  thus 
introduced  into  the  process  of  volition.  But  there 
are  two  motives  successively  brought  in  by  reason. 
The  first  is  only  a  general  idea,  a  summary  of  all 
which  the  various  tendencies  of  our  nature  desire, 
having  no  authority  but  theirs,  and  directing  them 
only  because  it  comprehends  their  end,  and  knows 
the  best  means  to  satisfy  them.  Interest  well  under- 
stood is  the  first  motive  that  aids  the  will  in  gaining 
supreme  control,  by  giving  it  support  against  the 
purely  mechanical  impulse  of  passion. 

The  second  motive  introduced  by  reason,  or  the 
second  support  afforded  by  it  to  the  will,  is  much 
stronger.  It  is  the  idea  of  good  in  itself,  an  idea 
which  is  not  the  interest  well  understood  of  our 
impulses,  the  end  of  our  instinctive  tendencies,  but 
an  end,  an  interest,  entirely  impersonal,  the  universal 
end  of  the  creation  —  absolute  good,  or  order.  It 
is  only  such  an  idea,  such  an  end,  such  a  good, 
that  can  have  an  obligatory  character ;  for  that 
which  is  personal,  not  being  superior  to  the  person, 
cannot  in  any  way  oblige  him.  The  idea  of  law 
implies  something  exterior  and  superior  to  the  person, 
something  universal,  which  comprehends  and  controls 
the  individual.  Such  is  the  idea  of  absolute  good, 
or  of  universal  order,  to  which  reason  ascends,  and 
which  appears  to  it  instantly  as  a  legitimate  and 
obligatory  motive.  Henceforth,  the  will  is  not  only 
aided  to  resist  the  mechanical  impulse  of  passion 


THE    FACTS    OF   MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  73 

by  interest  well  understood,  but,  resting  on  this  idea, 
finds  support  in  another  yet  more  comprehensive 
and  powerful  motive,  even  that  of  producing  good 
within  and  around  us,  of  completing  and  reverencing 
order  in  the  development  of  our  own  and  other 
natures.  In  this  idea  of  good  is  comprehended  that 
of  our  own  and  others'  good ;  and  the  realizing 
of  these  two  kinds  of  good  becomes  obligatory,  on 
the  common  ground  that  each  is  an  element  of  order, 
or  of  that  absolute  good  which  is  obligatory.  Thus 
the  good  of  another  becomes  an  element  in  the 
determination  of  our  volitions,  and  even  our  own 
good  assumes  a  character  of  impersonality  which 
it  had  not  before.  When  the  will  finds  this  new 
source  of  strength,  it  not  only  becomes  more  power- 
ful against  mechanical  impulse,  but  escapes  altogether, 
if  it  chooses,  from  all  motives  of  a  personal  nature. 
Morality  now  becomes'  possible;  for  the  condition 
of  all  morality,  which  is  to  act  from  a  motive  or 
impersonal  idea,  or  a  law,  is  given;  but,  before  this 
time,  morality  has  had  no  existence  whatever. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  unless  I  have  succeeded  very 
ill  in  analyzing  the  complex  phenomenon  of  human 
volition,  you  must  clearly  comprehend  both  its  ele- 
ments and  its  operation.  Such  is  the  phenomenon 
in  its  threefold  aspect.  I  have  copied  these  outlines 
faithfully,  I  trust,  from  the  facts  of  human  conscious- 
ness; and,  if  the  picture  is  not  perfect  in  details, 
it  is  yet  true,  I  am  confident,  in  its  main  features 
and  general  air. 

But  whether  we  yield  to  the  impulse  of  passion  and 
instinct,  or  act  from  the  motive  of  self-interest,  or 
VOL.  i.  o 


74  JOUFFROY. 

finally  obey  the  idea  of  good,  we  meet  constantly  with 
obstacles  between  ourselves  and  our  end,  which  can 
never  in  this  life  be  wholly  surmounted.  Hence,  in 
every  possible  situation,  a  perpetual  conflict  is  waged 
between  our  nature  and  surrounding  circumstances; 
and  this  is  the  fundamental  characteristic  of  the  con- 
dition of  humanity. 

But,  independently  of  this  fundamental  conflict, 
which  is  renewed  in  every  possible  moral  period,  each 
period  has  a  conflict  peculiar  to  itself.  In  the  primi- 
tive state,  where  two  principles  of  our  nature  only 
exercise  their  functions,  —  on  the  one  side  our  tenden- 
cies, and  on  the  other  our  faculties,  —  there  is  a  conflict 
between  the  different  tendencies  of  our  nature  ;  when 
one  has  supreme  sway,  it  oppresses  the  others,  while 
these  in  turn  rise  to  power  and  subdue  the  first.  A 
violent  and  perpetual  strife  goes  on  of  necessity  among 
our  different  tendencies ;  for  each  is  exacting  and 
exclusive,  and  often  can  be  satisfied  only  by  the 
sacrifice  of  the  others. 

In  the  period  of  self-love,  not  only  is  there  a  contest 
between  our  different  passions,  but  yet  another  between 
our  passions  and  the  motive  of  self-interest.  For  we 
cannot  direct  ourselves  according  to  the  rules  of  self- 
interest,  except  by  constraining  and  repressing  the 
natural  action  of  our  different  passions.  Each  moment 
must  we  sacrifice  the  strongest  passion  to  a  weaker 
one  —  a  present  passion  to  a  future  one,  and  this  for 
the  sake  of  our  greatest  interest,  or  an  idea  of  our 
reason.  There  is,  then,  in  the  selfish  state,  a  contest 
of  motives  against  impulses ;  and  we  cannot  sacrifice 
one  to  the  other,  without  regretting  it,  if  it  is  the 


THE    PACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  75 

motive  which  is  abandoned  ;  without  pain,  if  it  is  the 
passion. 

In  the  third,  or  moral  period,  properly  so  called, 
both  these  conflicts  are  continued,  and  a  third  com- 
mences between  self-interest  or  personal  good,  and 
duty  or  absolute  good.  In  a  multitude  of  cases  we 
must  sacrifice  self-interest  to  good  in  itself;  and  in 
whatever  way  we  may  decide  to  act,  we  suffer  either 
remorse,  if  we  are  influenced  by  the  thought  of  per- 
sonal good,  or  regret,  if  we  sacrifice  well-being  to 
duty.  The  very  root  of  all  these  conflicts  is  the  fun- 
damental one  of  man  against  nature.  Were  it  not  for 
this,  the  secondary  conflicts  would  not  arise  at  all  ;  but 
this  is  produced  from  the  very  nature  of  things,  and 
from  it  spring  the  others. 

Thus  the  province  of  moral  volition  is,  if  I  may  say 
So,  a  battle-field,  where  eternal  war  is  waged.  These 
combats  make  up  our  life  itself,  with  all  its  varied 
griefs,  and  its  grand  fundamental  evil,  the  strife  of 
man  with  what  is  not  himself.  And  yet,  gentlemen, 
there  is,  nevertheless,  beneath  all  this,  the  profoundest 
unity  and  harmony ;  and  now,  having  described  thf 
discord  and  strife  of  our  nature,  I  will  explain  to  you 
its  accordance  and  peace. 

Is  it  not  true,  then,  that  if  we  had  the  power  of 
always  directing  ourselves  according  to  the  rule  of  self- 
interest,  supposing  this  rule  to  have  been  perfectly 
estimated  by  reason,  is  it  not  true  that  the  attainments 
of  such  self-interest  would  comprehend  and  include 
the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  all  our  tendencies, 
that  is  to  say,  of  all  our  passions?  Of  this  there  can 
be  no  doubt;  for  whenever  we  prefer  the  rule  of 


76  JOLTFFROY. 

interest,  well  understood,  to  the  mechanical  impulse 
of  passion,  it  is  for  the  interests  of  passion  itself,  for  the 
interests  of  our  true  well-being,  therefore,  and  our 
greatest  good.  Thus,  in  yielding  to  the  selfish  motive, 
so  far  from  sacrificing  the  passions,  we  do  really  serve 
them ;  in  obeying  it,  we  in  fact  obey  our  passions,  that 
is  to  say,  the  tendencies  of  our  nature  ;  and  the  satis- 
faction of  one  implies  the  satisfaction  of  the  others. 
There  is,  then,  a  harmony  between  our  tendencies  and 
the  calculations  of  self-interest. 

Experience  proves  that  there  is  a  like  deep  har- 
mony between  obedience  to  the  law  of  duty  and  self- 
interest.  Long  has  it  been  since  philosophers,  who 
admitted  in  principle  the  law  of  duty,  in  order  to 
conciliate  those  over  whom  the  considerations  of  self- 
interest  exercised  great  power,  have  demonstrated,  by 
experience  and  reasoning,  that  the  best  mode  of  being 
happy  is  to  be  faithful,  in  every  case,  to  the  law  of  duty. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  it  has  been  long  since  those 
who  have  misconceived  the  nature  of  the  law  of  duty 
have  endeavored  to  explain  it  to  such  as  denied  it,  by 
showing  that  the  very  conduct  which  men  of  elevated 
intelligence  and  consummate  experience  had  deter- 
mined to  be  for  man's  true  self-interest,  is  precisely 
that  which  the  moral  law  prescribes.  Thus  the  parti- 
sans of  self-interest,  and  those  of  the  law  of  duty,  have 
both  agreed  in  recognizing  the  profound  and  ultimate 
agreement  which  there  is  between  the  counsels  of  the 
one  and  the  rules  of  the  other.  And,  in  fact,  it  is 
impossible  that  it  should  be  otherwise  ;  for  what  does 
the  law  of  duty  advise  ?  Its  wish  is,  that  we  should 
fulfil  our  own  destiny,  and  yet  not  hinder,  but  rather 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  77 

aid  others  in  fulfilling  theirs.  Now,  this  is  just  what 
our  passions  demand.  Our  passions  are  not  all  per- 
sonal ;  they  have  not  all  for  their  object  our  private 
good ;  but  we  have  also  sympathetic,  benevolent 
passions,  which  have  for  their  end  the  good  of  others. 
When  the  good  of  others,  then,  is  not  attained  — 
when  others  suffer  —  we  suffer  with  them.  Thus,  when 
the  emotion  of  pity  arises  in  my  heart,  if  the  object 
of  it  is  not  solaced,  I  suffer ;  I  too  am  unhappy. 
When  I  experience  sympathy  for  a  person  —  lively  sym- 
pathy —  if  that  person  is  unhappy,  I  suffer  also,  as  with 
a  grief  of  my  own.  Many  of  our  primitive  tendencies, 
then,  aspire  to  the  good  of  others  and  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  destiny,  as  a  final  end.  Self-interest 
includes,  then,  as  a  condition  of  our  own  good,  the 
good  of  others.  From  all  this  you  may  see  how 
profound  is  the  harmony  between  the  conduct  which 
the  law  of  duty,  or  the  idea  of  absolute  good,  prescribes, 
and  that  recommended  by  enlightened  self-interest,  or 
the  idea  of  personal  good.  And  thus,  as  self-interest 
coincides  with  the  satisfaction  of  our  instinctive  ten- 
dencies, it  follows  that  each  of  the  three  motives 
implies  the  others,  and  that,  notwithstanding  conflicts 
on  the  surface,  there  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  perfect 
fundamental  accordance.  But,  because  they  agree, 
they  are  not  the  less  distinct ;  neither  is  it  a  matter 
of  indifference  which  shall  be  obeyed.  If  you  yield  to 
passions,  you  debase  yourself  to  the  level  of  the  brutes, 
for  this  is  peculiarly  their  mode  of  volition.  The 
nature  of  animals,  like  the  nature  of  man,  impels 
them  to  their  end.  They  have,  like  ourselves,  facul» 
ties  by  which  to  attain  it ;  but  no  motive  ever  inter- 


78  JOUFFROY. 

poses  itself  between  the  mechanical  impulse  of  their 
desires  and  the  faculties  with  which  they  are  endowed 
for  their  satisfaction.  When  man  yields  to  passion, 
then  his  mode  of  volition  is  wholly  animal ;  and  so 
long  as  he  acts  in  this  manner  is  his  life  that  of  the 
brute.  It  is  only  when  he  rises  to  the  idea  of  self- 
interest,  that  he  becomes  a  rational  being;  then  he 
calculates  the  consequences  of  conduct,  and  becomes 
master  of  his  faculties ;  he  subjects  them  to  a  plan 
which  he  has  marked  out,  and  is  now  a  man,  though 
not  yet  a  moral  man  ;  he  becomes  a  moral  being  when 
he  abandons  this  idea  of  personal  good  for  that  of 
absolute  good;  then  he  is  moral,  for  he  obeys  a  law; 
he  rises  now  as  much  above  the  selfish  state,  as  before 
he  had  done  above  the  animal  state ;  and,  in  a  word, 
the  phenomena  of  moral  good  and  evil,  for  the  first 
time,  appear,  and  with  them  all  that  makes  the  glory 
and  the  greatness  of  our  nature. 

And  now  let  us  take  a  rapid  review  of  what  has 
been  said  of  the  different  kinds  of  good,  and  thus  fix, 
in  a  precise  manner,  our  notions  of  them  ;  for  distinct 
notions  on  this  subject  are  indispensable  to  a  right 
understanding  of  all  that  is  to  follow. 

I  have  told  you,  gentlemen,  that  good  for  man,  as 
for  every  other  creature  whatsoever,  is  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  destiny  ;  that  his  nature  commands  him  for- 
ever to  aspire  and  tend  toward  this  ;  that  it  is  this  which 
alone  can  satisfy  the  instinctive  passions.  My  nature 
is  intelligent ;  knowledge,  then,  is  a  good  for  me.  My 
nature  is  sympathetic  ;  the  happiness  of  others,  then,  is 
a  good  for  me.  Suppose  that  a  being  has  neither  intel- 
ligence nor  sympathy;  then  knowledge  and  the  welfare 


THE    FACTS    OP    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  79 

of  another  would  not  be  good  to  him.  His  nature  does 
not  seek  them ;  they  do  not  enter,  as  elements,  into 
the  final  end  of  his  being ;  for  they  are  not  adapted 
to  wants  of  his  constitution.  Understand,  then,  what 
I  mean  by  real  good;  you  can  determine  what  it  is 
for  any  being  when  you  have  comprehended  his  nature, 
and  learned  what  his  nature  craves. 

Whenever  I  obtain  my  real  good,  I  experience  a 
sensible  good,  that  is  to  say,  pleasure.  Here  is  a 
second  kind  of  good,  wholly  distinct  from  the  former ; 
and,  to  produce  it,  two  conditions  must  be  fulfilled. 
First,  the  being  must  be  sensitive ;  and,  secondly, 
something  which  is  a  real  good  for  that  being  must 
be  attained.  Agreeable  sensations,  pleasure,  sensible 
good,  is  a  consequence,  effect,  and  sign  of  real  good. 
Such  is  sensible  good,  or,  as  we  usually  call  it, 
happiness. 

Finally,  there  is  a  third  kind  of  good,  which  as 
peculiarly  belongs  to  moral  beings  as  happiness  does 
to  sensitive  beings ;  it  is  moral  good.  When  my 
reason  has  discovered  an  obligatory  motive  —  that  is 
to  say,  a  law  —  and  my  will  conforms  to  that  law, 
then  do  I  experience  moral  good;  and  when,  on  the 
contrary,  it  violates  that  law,  I  experience  moral  evil. 
Moral  good,  then,  is  nothing  else  than  a  conformity 
of  the  volitions  of  a  reasonable  being  to  the  law 
of  obligation  which  reason  prescribes.  When  I  act 
from  enlightened  self-interest  merely,  there  is  neither 
moral  good  nor  evil,  except  in  so  far  as  I  consciously 
violate  some  commandment  of  the  moral  law. 

Such  are  the  three  kinds  of  good  and  evil.  You 
see,  now,  the  fundamental  distinctions  between  real 


80  JOUFFROY. 

good  and  evil,  sensible  good  and  evil,  moral  good 
and  evil,  and  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  each. 
Human  nature  is  an  impenetrable  mystery  to  him 
who  has  not  separated  and  distinguished  three  things 
so  entirely  distinct;  and  the  explanation  of  false 
systems  and  erroneous  doctrines  is  to  be  found  in 
men's  having  confounded  them. 

Into  each  of  the  three  states  which  I  have  described, 
real  good  and  evil,  and4  consequently,  sensible  good 
and  evil,  enter ;  but  to  the  third  alone  is  moral 
good  confined.  I  will  recall  to  your  minds,  in 
passing,  the  fact  that  moral  good  and  evil  produce 
a  sensible  effect,  as  well  as  real  good  and  evil ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  we  cannot  obey  a  moral  law, 
without  experiencing,  from  that  obedience,  pleasure ; 
and  cannot  disobey  a  moral  law,  without,  as  a  con- 
sequence, suffering  pain.  Let  me  add  that,  as  this 
pleasure  and  pain  are  accompanied  by  a  judgment 
of  the  reason,  —  which  says  to  the  agent  not  only, 
"Thou  hast  done  well  or  ill,"  but  also,  "Thou  art 
worthy  or  unworthy,"  —  they  are  the  most  vivid 
which  human  sensibility  is  capable  of  feeling. 

It  results  from  this  analysis,  that  sensible  good  and 
evil  could  not  exist  without  the  other  kinds  of  good, 
and  also  that  moral  good  and  evil  could  not  exist 
without  real  good  and  evil ;  for  if  we  had  no  end, 
we  could  have  no  law.  Real  good  is,  then,  the 
condition  of  all  good  for  us ;  real  evil,  the  condition 
of  all  evil.  It  is  accompanied  by  sensible  good,  if  the 
being  is  sensitive ;  by  moral  good,  if  he  is  rational. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  principal  facts  of  our 
moral  nature. 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN*S  MORAL  NATURE.      81 

After  what  has  now  been  said,  you  can  easily 
comprehend  how  a  person,  in  surveying  the  rules 
of  human  conduct,  may  allow  some  of  the  facts 
of  our  nature  to  escape  him.  You  can  comprehend, 
for  example,  how  a  man  may  overlook  the  fact  that, 
independently  of  sensible  impulse  and  enlightened 
self-interest,  reason  perceives  an  obligatory  law  as 
a  motive  to  action.  Admitting  that  a  philosopher 
has  fallen  into  this  error,  the  moral  period  that  I 
have  described  is  not  a  real  one  to  him.  Miscon- 
ceiving the  facts  of  our  nature,  he  mutilates  them 
in  his  system,  and  can  come  but  to  the  one  conclusion, 
that  there  is  no  law  of  obligation.  You  can  com- 
prehend, also,  how,  without  entire  ignorance  of  this 
third  mode  of  volition,  a  man  may  yet  form  an 
incomplete  and  inaccurate  notion  of  it,  and  thus 
substitute  for  the  true  law  some  other,  and  thus, 
by  deforming,  destroy  it.  You  can  comprehend, 
finally,  how  a  philosopher  may  form  to  himself  such 
an  idea  of  the  nature  of  things,  or  of  man,  as  to 
make  him  think  it  impossible,  d  priori,  that  man 
should  be  subject  to  a  law  of  obligation,  and  there- 
fore useless  to  search  among  the  phenomena  of  his 
nature  for  such  a  law.  Thus,  for  example,  Hobbes, 
not  believing  in  the  freedom  of  the  will,  ought, 
a  priori,  to  have  declared  it  impossible  that  there 
should  be  a  law  of  obligation,  had  he  reasoned  strictly. 
Thus,  too,  Spinoza,  considering  all  things  as  necessary 
because  emanating  from  God,  whose  being  and  acts 
are  necessary,  should  have  denied,  from  the  high 
ground  of  his  system,  the  possibility  of  duty,  or 
rules,  or  law,  for  man. 


82  JOUFFROY. 

There  are  three  ways,  therefore,  in  which  the 
law  of  obligation,  which  is  the  foundation  of  ethics, 
may  be  denied;  first,  by  asserting,  a  priori,  and 
as  a  necessary  consequence,  from  a  high  principle, 
that  the  existence  of  such  a  law  is  impossible; 
secondly,  by  overlooking,  in  the  analysis  of  the 
moral  facts  of  human  nature,  the  very  facts  in 
which  this  law  is  manifested;  and,  lastly,  by  mu- 
tilating the  facts,  although  recognizing  them ;  thus 
substituting  a  false  law  of  obligation  for  the  true  one. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  pronounce  judgment 
upon  these  systems;  for  we  are  acquainted  with 
what  really  passes  within  us.  I  believe  that  the 
description  I  have  given  you  is  faithful,  although 
it  may  have  been  rudely  expressed;  for  I  confess 
to  you  I  experience  great  difficulty  whenever  I  at- 
tempt to  describe  in  words  these  phenomena  of  our 
nature.  Words  and  phrases  suggest  to  the  mind 
images  so  little  resembling  the  phenomena  of  which 
we  are  conscious,  that  all  description  seems  feeble 
and  imperfect.  No  one  feels  this  more  deeply  than 
I  do ;  and  yet,  gentlemen,  I  believe  that  the  sketch 
which  I  have  drawn  is,  in  the  main,  correct.  At 
least,  what  I  have  said  will  enable  you  to  com- 
prehend how  incomplete  views  of  the  moral  facts 
of  our  nature  have  given  rise  to  various  systems  ; 
and  still,  how  these  various  systems,  taken  together, 
bear  witness  to  the  real  existence  of  all  these  facts ; 
for,  though  each  system  may  exhibit  only  one  part 
while  neglecting  another,  yet,  together,  they  present 
a  complete  picture  of  our  nature. 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY. 


LECTURE   IV. 

SYSTEMS  WHICH  IMPLY  THE  IMPOSSIBILITY  OF  A  LAW  OF 
OBLIGATION. 

SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  a  former  lecture,  I  have  told  you  that 
the  philosophical  systems  which,  in  their  principles, 
are  destructive  of  ethical  science,  may  be  divided 
into  three  classes :  first,  those  which,  from  reasons 
independent  of  the  consideration  of  moral  phenom- 
ena, deny  that  there  can  be  a  law  of  obligation  for 
man ;  second,  those  which,  having  sought  for  this 
law  by  an  examination  and  analysis  of  moral  phe- 
nomena, declare  that  they  have  not  discovered  it; 
and,  lastly,  those  which,  though  professing  to  have 
found  it,  have  yet  mistaken  its  nature,  and  which, 
variously  disfiguring  it,  have  substituted,  for  such 
a  law  of  obligation  as  reason  recognizes,  a  false 
law,  more  or  less  altered  from  the  true  one,  and 
implying  no  obligation. 

Such  are  the  three  kinds  of  systems,  which,  directly 
or  indirectly,  destroy  all  right  and  all  duty,  and, 
consequently,  the  whole  science  of  ethics. 

Having,    in    my    last    two    lectures,    presented    a 


84  JOUFFROY. 

picture  of  the  different  facts  which  enter  into  the 
process  of  volition,  I  am  now  prepared  —  these  facts 
having  been  stated  —  to  examine  the  three  classes 
of  systems  which  I  have  pointed  out.  And  I  will 
begin  with  those  which  deny  that  there  can  be  a 
law  of  obligation. 

There  are  four  chief  systems,  which,  as  a  necessary 
and  immediate  consequence  of  their  principles,  deny 
the  possibility  of  a  law  of  obligation,  and,  conse- 
quently, that  there  can  be  any  rights  or  duties  in  a 
proper  sense.  These  are  pantheism,  mysticism,  skep- 
ticism, and  finally,  systems  denying  the  freedom  of 
the  will. 

My  design  is,  to  take  a  survey  of  these  four  sys- 
tems ;  and,  by  a  refutation  of  their  principles,  to 
escape  their  consequence,  that  is  to  say,  their  denial 
of  the  possibility  of  ethical  science. 

But  before  entering  into  a  detailed  examination  of 
these  four  systems,  it  may  be  well  to  point  out,  in  a 
few  words,  the  way  in  which  they  each  arrive  at  this 
common  result. 

It  is  evident,  in  the  first  place,  that  there  can  be  no 
law  of  obligation  for  a  being  who  is  not  free ;  for  it 
would  be  a  contradiction  in  terms,  to  say  that  any 
obligation  could  rest  upon  a  being  whose  actions  are 
determined  by  necessity.  It  is  needless  to  develop  so 
plain  a  truth ;  you  will  comprehend  at  once,  that  any 
system  which  denies  human  liberty,  does,  in  so  doing, 
deny  that  there  is  or  can  be  any  law  of  obligation. 

This  is  equally  true,  in  my  opinion,  of  all  systems 
of  pantheism ;  whose  doctrine  is,  that  there  is  but 
one  being,  self-existent,  necessary,  whom  pantheists, 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  85 

equally  with  deists,  call  God.  If  there  is  but  one 
being,  there  can  be  nothing  in  the  universe  but 
different  modes  of  his  existence.  Men,  all  things 
animate  or  inanimate,  which  make  up  the  creation,  are 
only  various  modes  and  different  manifestations  of  this 
one  being ;  all  causality  is,  therefore,  in  him ;  there- 
fore no  causality  exists  in  his  creatures;  and  where 
there  is  no  causality,  of  course  there  is  no  free- 
will. 

The  consequence,  then,  of  every  pantheistic  system, 
is  the  denial  of  all  free-will  in  the  creation,  and  of 
course  in  man.  It  is  only  through  an  inconsistency, 
therefore,  that  some  pantheists  have  believed  that  they 
could  recognize  these  two  things ;  and  have  professed 
the  twofold  doctrine  of  the  unity  of  being  (which  is 
the  first  principle  of  pantheism)  and  of  human  liberty. 

As  to  the  skeptical  systems,  they  are  of  two  kinds. 
The  one  class  deny  that  certainty  in  knowledge  is 
possible,  on  the  ground  that  human  opinions  are  every 
where  contradictory  ;  the  other  class,  passing  by  this 
contradictory  character  of  human  opinions  as  a  matter 
open  for  debate,  question  whether  what  appears  to  us 
truth  is  really  truth  in  itself,  for  the  reason  that  the 
perceptions  and  conceptions  of  our  intelligence  rtsult 
from  the  very  organization  of  that  intelligence.  They 
assert  that  we  cannot  prove  that,  if  we  had  been 
differently  organized,  our  views  and  conceptions  would 
not  have  been  different  from  those  which  we  now  have, 
or  that  what  now  appears  to  us  true,  might  not  then 
have  seemed  false,  and  vice  versa. 

Such  are  the  two  forms  of  skepticism;  and  both  one 

VOL.    I.  H 


86  JOUFFROY. 

and  the  other  lead  to  the  same  result — that  man  can 
be  certain  of  nothing.  If  this  is  so,  then,  when  we 
believe  that  we  see,  in  a  conception  of  our  reason,  a 
practical  obligation  to  conform  our  conduct  to  it,  this 
view  may  be  as  uncertain  as  any  other,  and  we  cannot 
put  faith  in  it.  It  is,  then,  a  matter  of  doubt  whether 
we  are  obliged  to  do  any  thing  whatsoever,  and  whether 
that  which  we  call  good  or  ill  is  really  so.  It  is  quite 
a  matter  of  indifference,  then,  whether  we  respect  this 
obligation  or  not. 

Every  system  of  skepticism,  from  whatever  principle 
it  originates,  necessarily  ends  in  throwing  doubt  over 
every  idea  of  obligation,  and  consequently  in  a  denial 
of  human  obligation. 

Mysticism  yet  remains  to  be  considered.  I  admit 
that  there  are  various  kinds  of  mysticism.  But  there 
is  one  chief  mystical  system,  which  is  the  source  of  all 
others :  its  leading  principle  is,  that  man  cannot,  in 
this  world,  attain  his  end ;  that  he  is,  whatever  he  may 
attempt,  powerless  for  good ;  and  that,  therefore,  the 
only  thing  for  him  to  do  is  to  wait  till  the  obstacles 
which  impede  him  are  removed,  and  till  the  human 
soul,  set  free  from  its  present  bonds,  be  transported 
into  such  another  order  of  things  as  will  permit  him 
to  accomplish  his  destiny.  For  one  who  thinks  thus, 
all  action  appears  absurd,  and  a  passive  state  is  the 
only  reasonable  one.  Let  man  await  the  time  when 
the  hand  of  God  shall  deliver  him  from  the  bondao-e 

"•  *  *  ® 

of  his  present  condition  ;  then  will  there  be  a  sphere 
for  action ;  but  until  then  let  him  live  passive,  leave 
things  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and  abandon  himself 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  87 

to  the  current  of  fate.  Any  other  course  of  conduct 
would  be  an  inconsistency ;  and  the  existence  of  any 
obligation,  therefore,  is  impossible. 

Thus  you  see  how  the  four  systems  of  necessity, 
pantheism,  skepticism,  and  mysticism,  equally  deny 
that  there  can  be  any  law  of  obligation  for  man. 

After  this  summary  review,  I  will  now  proceed  to 
take  up  these  systems  successively,  in  order  that  we 
may  examine  more  in  detail  the  foundations  upon 
which  they  rest ;  and,  by  showing  you  the  falseness 
of  the  principle,  I  shall  attempt  to  destroy  the  conse- 
quences which  have  been  drawn  from  them.  Let  us 
begin  with  the  system  of  necessity. 

The  number  of  philosophers  who  have  thought  that 
man  is  not  a  free  being,  is  very  great ;  but  they  have 
not  all  arrived  at  their  conclusion  in  the  same  way. 
They  have  professed  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  in  view 
of  different  principles,  and  through  various  courses 
of  reasoning.  The  common  characteristic  among 
these  systems  of  necessity,  by  which  they  must  be 
classified,  is,  as  I  have  shown,  that  they  all  end  in 
denying  the  possibility  of  any  law  of  obligation. 

I  will  describe  the  different  reasons  which  have  led 
philosophers  to  this  strange  denial  of  human  liberty, 
and  will  endeavor  briefly  to  refute  them  in  succession. 
You  can  readily  see  that,  as  my  wish  is  to  come  as 
soon  as  possible  to  a  positive  exposition  of  the  laws  of 
human  conduct,  I  cannot  give-  much  time  to  a  descrip- 
tion or  a  refutation  of  these  doctrines.  As  I  am 
addressing  myself  to  an  intelligent  audience,  and  as 
the  system  of  necessity  is  in  evident  contradiction  to 
the  universal  faith  and  the  acknowledged  facts  of 


88  JOUFFROY. 

human  nature,  a  simple  description  of  its  leading 
traits  will  enable  me  to  refute  the  reasonings  of  its 
advocates. 

The  first  mode  of  denying  human  liberty  which  I 
shall  describe,  is  one  which  overlooks  our  true  liberty, 
and  substitutes  a  fictitious  one.  This  is  what  has  been 
done  by  Hobbes.  Hobbes  confined  himself  to  that 
signification  of  the  word  liberty,  in  which  we  all 
employ  it,  when  we  say  of  a  man  who  was  just  now 
chained,  but  is  set  free,  that  he  is  at  liberty.  When 
a  man  is  chained,  he  can  will  any  act,  but  he  cannot 
execute  his  will.  The  constraint  is  not  on  his  power 
of  willing,  but  on  his  power  of  acting.  In  a  word, 
action,  which  naturally  and  immediately  follows  voli- 
tion, is,  for  the  time,  impossible. 

Hobbes  understands  by  liberty,  the  power  of  doing 
what  we  will ;  and  well  may  he  say,  therefore,  that 
human  liberty  is  limited  ;  for  it  is  evident  enough  that 
we  can  will  a  multitude  of  things  which  we  cannot 
possibly  execute.  Within  the  limits  of  what  we  can 
possibly  do,  we  are  free ;  but  no  further.  This  is 
liberty,  as  Hobbes  has  defined  it ;  and  he  asserts  that 
there  is  and  can  be  no  other. 

To  support  such  a  doctrine,  is  to  deny,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  that  man  is  a  free  being.  If  by  liberty 
is  understood  an  absence  of  any  such  external  con- 
straint as  prevents  the  exercise  of  any  power  within 
the  natural  limits  of  that  power,  then  every  being 
endowed  with  any  power  whatsoever  is  equally  free 
with  man ;  animals  are  free ;  vegetative  force  is  free , 
rivers  as  they  run,  winds  as  they  blow,  are  free. 
Now,  this,  evidently,  is  not  what  we  mean  by  the 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  89 

freedom  of  any  power.  The  question  of  liberty  or 
necessity  turns  altogether  upon  the  mode  in  which  any 
power  is  determined  in  its  action ;  not  upon  the  fact 
that  there  are  limits,  wider  or  narrower,  to  its  exercise. 
In  such  a  sense  of  the  word,  no  part  of  our  nature  is 
less  free  than  the  power  of  acting.  In  truth,  the 
necessary  law  of  our  being  is,  that  a  resolve  of  the 
will,  when  directed  to  what  can  possibly  be  accom- 
plished, should  be  immediately  followed  by  the  act 
which  executes  it,  and  realizes  the  intent  of  the  will. 
There  is  a  necessary  connection  between  willing  and 
acting,  if  the  thing  willed  can  be  done.  If,  then,  by 
liberty  is  meant  the  power  of  doing  what  we  will, 
liberty  is  ascribed  to  a  power,  whose  very  characteristic 
is  necessary  action.  For  the  act,  by  which  we  fulfil 
a  resolve,  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  that  volition. 
If,  then,  Hobbes,  supposing  that  he  thereby  preserves 
the  freedom  of  the  will,  demonstrates  or  thinks  that  he 
demonstrates  to  his  own  mind,  that  the  will  has  no 
liberty  to  form  what  resolves  it  chooses,  but  that  all 
its  resolves  are  -determined  by  necessity,  you  can 
readily  comprehend  how,  by  thus  denying  liberty  where 
it  really  exists,  and  admitting  it  where  it  does  not,  he 
does  actually  destroy  it  altogether. 

I  trust  that  you  have  a  clear  conception  of  this 
system.  There  is  but  one  answer  to  it.  Hobbes  has 
placed  our  freedom  where  it  does  not  exist,  where  we 
are  not  conscious  of  it ;  where,  on  the  contrary,  we 
are  perfectly  conscious  of  necessity.  If  it  is  true  that, 
in  common  language,  we  do  use  the  word  liberty 
sometimes  to  denote  our  power  of  doing  what  we 
purpose,  it  is  merely  to  describe  a  state  opposed  to 

H2 


90  JOUFFROY. 

that  in  which  the  power  of  acting  is  for  the  moment 
suspended  by  external  constraint.  Tt  is  in  this  sense 
only  that  we,  by  analogy,  call  this  state  a  state  of 
liberty.  But  when  we  enter  into  ourselves,  we  feel 
clearly,  that  the  necessary  consequence  of  every  re- 
solve, when  that  resolve  is  directed  to  any  thing 
within  our  power,  is  the  act  putting  that  resolve  in 
execution  ;  and  that  in  this  part  of  x>ur  nature  there  is, 
therefore,  no  liberty.  If  it  sometimes  does  happen 
that,  after  having  willed  an  act,  we  yet  do  not  perform 
it,  observe,  it  is  always  because  in  place  of  that  first 
resolve  is  substituted  an  opposite  one,  destroying  it ; 
so  that  doing  the  act  or  refraining  from  it,  are  im- 
mediate, necessary,  plain  consequences  of  the  last 
resolve  we  form.  Wherein,  then,  does  our  liberty 
really  consist  ?  In  our  power  of  forming  resolves. 
When  we  make  a  resolution,  is  it  only  the  necessary 
consequence  of  some  previous  processes  in  our  minds  ? 
or  does  it  arise  from  the  power  which  we  have  of 
forming  this  or  that  resolve,  just  as  we  choose,  after 
having  considered  whether  it  is  right  or  wrong,  expe- 
dient or  inexpedient,  pleasant  or  painful  ?  This  is  the 
question,  and  the  real  point  to  be  discussed. 

Another  system,  equally  denying  human  liberty,  has 
arisen  from  a  different  confusion  of  language.  It  is 
the  system  of  Hume.  Consider  for  a  moment  this 
philosopher's  idea  of  a  cause,  in  which,  by  the  way, 
may  be  found  the  very  basis  of  his  skepticism. 

As  you  well  know,  it  is  the  object  of  students 
of  physical  science,  of  medical  men  and  chemists,  of 
all  who  seek  to  discover  the  laws  of  nature,  to  deter- 
mine the  circumstances  which  constantly  precede  the 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  91 

• 

appearance  of  any  phenomenon  or  effect.  When  these 
circumstances  are  determined,  a  law  of  nature  is 
discovered ;  and  we  can  draw  from  the  knowledge 
of  this  law  many  important  rules  for  conduct.  We 
are  taught  by  it,  that,  whenever  the  circumstances 
occur,  this  event  will  follow ;  and,  conversely,  that 
whenever  it  does  happen,  these  circumstances  have 
preceded  it.  This  is  of  great  importance  in  determin- 
ing the  direction  of  our  actions,  and  gives  man  im 
mense  advantage  over  the  blind  forces  of  nature.  As 
we  never  can  reach  beyond  ourselves  to  a  perception 
of  the  true  cause  of  any  effect,  because  out  of  ourselves 
these  causes  are  invisible,  we  are  limited  to  a  statement 
of  the  circumstances  which  have  constantly  preceded  the 
phenomenon,  instead  of  seeking  for  the  causes  which 
have  really  produced  it ;  and  as,  in  the  minds  of  students 
of  physical  science,  the  efficient  and  unknown  cause 
which  produces  a  phenomenon  is  not  confounded  with 
the  circumstances  which  have  been  observed  to  precede 
and  accompany  it,  for  convenience  and  brevity  we  are 
accustomed  to  say  that  these  circumstances  are  the 
cause.  The  assertion  of  Hume  is,  that  we  have  no 
other  idea  of  a  cause  than  this ;  and  he  supports  his 
assumption  thus :  — 

All  our  knowledge,  according  to  Hume,  originates 
in  experience.  If  this  is  admitted,  he  must  go  on  to 
explain,  by  experience  alone,  the  formation  of  all  the 
notions  which  are  found  in  human  intelligence ;  the 
idea  of  cause  is  one.  Hume  is  bound  to  explain  how 
this  idea  has  entered  the  mind,  whether  from  the  senses 
or  from  consciousness.  Now,  as  it  is  a  fact  that  the 
senses  can  never  reach  beyond  phenomena  to  causes, 


92 


JOUFFROY. 


• 

and  as  Hume  thinks  that  consciousness  also  can  per- 
ceive phenomena  only,  it  is  plain  that,  if  this  meta- 
physical doctrine  is  once  adopted,  it  becomes  impos- 
sible to  explain  the  true  notion  of  a  cause,  such  as 
we  find  it  in  our  minds. 

But  there  is.  a  sense  of  the  word  cause  before 
referred  to,  which  this  system  is  competent  to  explain. 
Though  consciousness  and  sensation  can  never  per- 
ceive causes,  still,  according  to  Hume,  tlrey  can  at 
least  perceive  the  circumstances  which  have  preceded 
the  appearance  of  any  effect.  Meeting  with  this 
sense  of  the  word,  explicable  by  his  system,  Hume 
adopts  it;  and,  being  unable  to  account  for  any 
other  idea  expressed  by  the  word  according  to  his 
hypothesis,  he  declares  that  this  is  the  only  notion 
which  the  word  cause  really  represents  to  the  human 
mind.  Thus,  for  Hume,  a  cause  is  merely  the 
aggregate  of  circumstances  constantly  preceding  in 
nature  the  production  of  any  effect. 

This  being  so,  it  is  perfectly  plain  that  nobody 
can  in  any  case  be  entirely  sure  of  what  is  the 
cause  of  any  effect.  Hume  remarks,  in  fact,  and 
with  much  reason,  that,  however  constant  may  be 
the  concurrence  of  certain  circumstances  with  a 
fact,  reason  always  distinctly  comprehends  that  a 
possible  case  may  arise,  where  this  concurrence  will 
cease,  and  where,  consequently,  what  now  seems  to 
us  the  cause  will  cease.  This  is  one  reason  why 
we  can  never  be  certain  that  what  we  call  the  cause 
of  a  phenomenon  is  the  true  cause. 

In  the  next  place,  Hume  remarks,  and  with  as  good 
reason,  that  observation  cannot  detect,  among  the  cir- 


SYSTEM    OP    NECESSITY.  93 

cumstances  which  constantly  precede  the  appearance 
of  a  phenomenon,  the  efficient  force  which  has 
produced  it.  We  see,  in  fact,  certain  circumstances ; 
we  see,  next,  a  phenomenon :  but  the  assumed  fact 
of  the  production  of  this  phenomenon  by  the  circum- 
stances which  precede  it  escapes  us  entirely ;  and, 
if  it  always  thus  escapes  us,  we  have  no  means 
of  knowing  whether  it  really  happens.  Thus  the 
idea  of  causation  as  commonly  understood,  or,  what 
comes  to  the  same  thing,  the  idea  of  the  production 
of  an  effect  by  a  cause,  is  and  can  only  be  an 
illusion  of  the  human  mind.  The  idea  of  concur- 
rence observed  between  two  facts,  —  this,  according 
to  Hume,  is  what  the  idea  of  causation  in  our  minds 
really  reduces  itself  to.  Any  thing  more  is  an  illusion 
and  prejudice.  Consequently,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  cause,  in  the  common  sense  of  that  word ;  and; 
consequently,  no  such  thing  as  an  effect.  There 
is  nothing  more  in  nature  than  a  recurrence  of 
phenomena,  which  precede  and  follow  each  other 
with  some  degree  of  constancy,  but  which  in  no 
case  should  be  considered  by  us  as  eternal  or  ne- 
cessary. 

You  see  that  the  necessary  consequence  of  such 
a  doctrine  is  to  destroy  such  ideas  of  cause  and 
effect,  and  of  their  relation,  as  exist  in  the  minds 
of  all  men;  and  that,  therefore,  any  consideration 
of  the  question  whether  human  causality,  or  the  me, 
is  free  or  not,  is  vain  and  idle.  We  may  well  discuss 
the  question,  if  we  consider  human  causality  a  true 
cause,  really  producing  the  acts  which  the  man 
performs.  But,  if  we  assume  that  the  causality  of 


94  JOUFFROY. 

this  me  is  an  illusion,  the  question  becomes  absurd; 
for  it  amounts  to  this :  Is  an  efficient  cause,  which 
has  no  existence,  free  or  not  free?  Hume  does  not 
admit  the  consideration  of  this  question  of  human 
liberty  at  all,  then ;  to  him  it  is  only  trifling  and 
foolish.  I  speak  here  of  his  metaphysics  only ;  for, 
as  to  his  moral  philosophy,  it  is,  like  that  of  many 
other  philosophers,  —  and  like  that  of  Spinoza  even, 
the  most  strict  and  logical  mind  of  modern  times,  — 
at  variance  with  his  metaphysical  system.  To  con- 
ceive it  possible  that  there  can  be  any  morality  at 
all,  we  must  admit,  in  the  outset,  and  first  of  all, 
the  very  thing  which  Hume's  metaphysics  deny, 
namely,  that  we  are  causes.  For,  destroy  this  first 
and  indispensable  consideration,  and  it  evidently 
becomes  most  absurd  to  inquire  what  the  laws  of 
human  action  should  be,  or  what  conduct  should  be 
recommended  for  man  to  pursue. 

Such,  gentlemen,  in  a  few  words,  is  the  meta- 
physical doctrine  of  Hume.  It  can  be  answered 
in  a  most  simple  way,  by  saying  that  the  human 
mind  has  ideas  of  cause  and  effect,  and  of  their 
relation,  which  are  wholly  irreconcilable  with  it. 
The  system  of  Hume,  therefore,  which  pretends  to 
explain  all  our  ideas,  is  false. 

A  second  reply  to  Hume  is  yet  more  direct.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  we  feel  that  we  are  the  cause  of 
the  acts  which  we  produce.  Thus,  when  I  walk, 
I  feel  that  I  cause  the  motion  of  my  limbs ;  when 
I  think,  when  I  fix  my  attention,  when  I  reflect, 
I  feel  that  I  cause  these  acts  of  thought,  attention, 
and  reflection,  which  I  perform.  It  is  true  that  we 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  96 

have  no  idea  of  cause,  if  consciousness  perceives 
nothing  more  within  us  than  sensation  does  in  that; 
for  it  is  certain  that,  out  of  ourselves,  we  cannot  go 
beyond  phenomena  —  we  cannot  reach  to  causes. 
But,  when  we  attend  not  to  what  passes  without, 
but  to  what  passes  within,  we  discover  in  ourselves, 
by  consciousness,  a  cause,  which  does  produce  effects ; 
and  we  have,  whenever  we  experience  this  inward 
feeling,  the  feeling  of  cause,  the  feeling  of  effect, 
and  the  feeling  of  the  production  of  the  effect  by 
the  cause.  Thus,  for  example,  when  I  pay  attention, 
I  have  the  feeling  of  the  me,  which  pays  attention,  — 
of  the  phenomenon  of  attention  thence  resulting, — 
and,  finally,  I  feel  that  it  is  I,  myself,  who,  as  the 
cause,  have  produced  this  effect  of  attention.  It  is 
clear  that  a  system,  which  denies  all  these  facts, 
cannot  explain  the  idea  of  cause.  But,  to  conclude 
from  this  that  the  idea  does  not  exist  in  the  human 
mind,  is  to  submit  the  mind  to  the  laws  of  a  false 
system,  which  philosophy  has  invented.  The  mina 
has  the  idea  of  cause ;  and  for  this  reason,  that 
it  experiences  in  itself  the  feeling  of  a  cause  which 
does  produce  effects. 

If  only  such  opinions  as  these,  which  I  have 
now  refuted,  had  been  brought  against  the  faith 
in  human  freedom,  the  question  would  never  have 
been  seriously  agitated  by  many  minds.  We  must 
renounce  the  most  familiar  notions  of  good  sense 
and  experience,  before  we  can  admit  these  opinions 
of  Hume  and  Hobbes  which  I  have  described ;  and, 
therefore,  they  are  only  partially  dangerous.  The 
strongest  objections  against  human  liberty  come  from 


96  JOUFFROY. 

a  system  whose  leading  principle  is  wholly  different. 
This  system  is  complicated  enough  ;  that  is,  it  opposes 
many  objections  to  the  doctrine  of  human  liberty. 
These  objections,  however,  are  all  connected  with 
one  main  idea,  which  is  this  —  that  the  motives  from 
which  the  will  makes  up  its  volitions,  really  constrain 
the  will  to  choose,  and  consequently  destroy  its 
freedom;  in  other  words,  the  doctrine  which  I  am 
now  about  to  exhibit  to  you  does  not  admit  that 
man  is  a  free  being,  because  it  thinks  that  acts  of 
will  are,  in  every  case  whatsoever,  the  necessary 
effect  of  motives  preceding  the  volition. 

The  principal  propositions  of  the  supporters  of 
this  system  are  as  follows :  In  the  first  place,  they 
assert,  as  a  fact,  that  every  volition  has  a  motive. 
In  the  second  place,  they  say  that,  if  the  motive 
which  acts  upon  the  will  is  a  simple  and  single  one, 
the  motive  will  necessarily  determine  it ;  but,  if  there 
are  several  motives  operating  at  the  same  time,  the 
strongest  will  determine  it.  Such,  gentlemen,  is  the 
argument  of  the  friends  of  this  system.  To  point 
out  the  fallacy  of  such  reasoning,  we  must  take  up 
and  answer  separately  its  different  assumptions. 

Perhaps  one  might,  with  Reid,  deny  the  fact  that 
all  the  resolves  of  the  will  have  a  motive.  Reid 
states  facts  to  support  this  position.  He  says  that 
we  often  form  trifling  resolves  without  the  slightest 
consciousness  of  having  any  motive;  and,  to  the 
objection  immediately  raised,  that  the  motive  has 
acted  insensibly  on  the  will,  he  answers,  that  it  is 
not  then  a  motive,  as  a  motive  is  a  reason  for  acting, 
conceived  beforehand,  and  acting  on  the  will.  A 


SYSTEM   OF    NECESSITY.  97 

motive  which  is  not  conceived  of,  that  is  to  say, 
of  which  I  have  no  consciousness,  says  Reid,  is  as 
if  it  was  no  motive  —  as  if  it  did  not  exist.  It  is 
a  contradiction,  then,  to  say  that  a  motive  has  acted 
on  my  will,  and  yet  that  I  have  been  unconscious  of 
it.  Again,  says  Reid,  I  am  placed  in  situations 
where  different  means  to  a  certain  end  present  them- 
selves—  means  which  will  equally  conduct  me  to  it; 
now,  if,  in  such  a  case,  I  select  one  rather  than  the 
others,  it  is  without  any  motive  whatsoever.  For 
example,  I  owe  a  guinea  to  a  person  who  has  come 
for  payment,  and  there  are  in  my  purse  twenty 
guineas;  why  do  I  select  one  rather  than  another? 
Reid  asserts  that  there  is  in  such  a  case  no  motive 
whatever.  He  acknowledges  that  such  actions  are 
of  no  importance  in  a  moral  point  of  view.  But 
he  remarks  that  the  question  is  simply  to  know 
whether  it  is  possible  that  the  will  should  ever  make 
a  choice  without  any  motive ;  and,  if  any  such  in- 
stances can  be  brought  forward,  however  few  or 
trifling,  we  may  still  answer  the  question  in  the 
affirmative. 

These  are  subtle  trains  of  reasoning,  and  different 
minds  will  form  different  opinions  as  to  their  im- 
portance. For  myself,  I  leave  aside  this  discussion, 
and  prefer,  in  a  consideration  of  the  subject  which 
must  be  very  rapid,  to  limit  myself  to  decisive 
arguments. 

I  will  admit,  then,  at  the  outset,  that  we  never 
do  act  without  a  motive.  This  being  granted,  the 
question  resolves  itself  into  this :  Is  a  motive  some- 
thing which  constrains  or  compels  my  volition  ? 

VOL.    I.  I 


98  JOUFFROY. 

Now,  in  my  opinion,  this  assumed  constraint  is 
contradicted  by  experience,  and  by  our  feeling  of 
what  passes  within  us  when  we  form  a  purpose. 
In  fact,  if  there  is  one  familiar  feeling,  of  which 
we  are  distinctly  and  vividly  conscious,  it  surely  is 
that  which  we  experience  when  we  make  a  choice. 
Whatever  the  force  of  the  motive  which  we  obey, 
we  yet  perceive  a  wide  distinction  between  the  in- 
fluence of  this  motive  and  any  thing  which  can 
be  called  constraint.  Indeed,  we  feel  distinctly  that, 
in  yielding  to  this  motive,  that  is  to  say,  in  resolving 
in  conformity  with  it,  we  are  entirely  able  not  to 
form  this  resolve.  If,  for  instance,  when  standing 
at  a  window,  I  determine  not  to  throw  myself  into 
the  street,  I  feel  that  it  depends  wholly  upon  myself 
to  form  an  opposite  determination ;  only  I  say  I 
should  then  be  a  fool ;  and,  being  rational,  I  remain 
where  I  am.  But  that  I  am  free  to  be  a  fool,  and 
to  throw  myself  down,  is  to  me  most  evident.  If 
any  of  my  audience  are  capable  of  confounding  in 
their  minds  the  fact,  that  a  billiard-ball  on  a  table 
is  put  in  motion  by  a  stroke,  with  the  fact,  that 
a  volition  is  produced  in  my  mind  when  I  seek  to 
know  what  is  my  reasonable  course  of  conduct,  and 
think  I  discover  it,  —  if  there  are  any  here,  who 
can  see  a  similarity  between  the  action  of  one  ball 
on  another,  and  the  influence  of  a  motive  on  my 
volition,  —  then  have  I  nothing  more  to  say.  But 
no  one  can  imagine  a  similarity  between  the  two ;  at 
least,  no  one,  who  has  not  taken  sides  on  the  question, 
and  given  up  his  mind  to  some  system,  of  which  it 
is  a  consequence  that  some  necessity  must  control 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  99 

our  volition  and  acts,  can  confound  two  facts  in 
their  nature  so  dissimilar  as  the  action  of  one  ball 
upon  another,  and  the  influence  of  a  motive  on  the 
determinations  of  my  will.  The  law,  that  every 
motion  in  material  bodies  is  proportioned  to  the 
moving  force  which  produced  it,  supposes  a  fact ; 
namely,  the  inertia  of  matter.  To  apply  this  law 
to  the  relation  which  subsists  between  the  resolutions 
of  my  will,  and  the  motives  which  act  upon  it,  is 
to  suppose  that  my  being,  that  I,  myself,  am  not  a 
cause ;  for  a  cause  is  something  which  produces  an 
act  by  its  own  proper  power.  That  which  is  inert 
is  not  a  cause ;  it  may  receive  and  transmit  an 
impulse,  but  it  cannot  originate  it.  Are  we,  or  are 
we  not,  a  cause?  Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  a 
power  in  ourselves  of  producing  certain  acts?  It 
would  seem  necessary  for  us  to  decide  this  question, 
before  we  can  rightly  apply  the  law  of  external 
phenomena  to  internal  operations.  Admitting,  then, 
that  every  volition  has  a  motive,  as  the  advocate 
of  the  scheme  of  necessity  asserts,  —  admitting  even 
with  him,  that,  whenever  the  will  is  addressed  by 
only  one  motive,  its  volitions  are  always  in  conformity 
with  it,  —  it  by  no  means  follows  that  this  proves 
the  truth  of  his  system.  It  proves  only  this,  that 
our  will  forms  no  volition  without  a  reason  for  forming 
it;  and  that,  when  there  is  but  one  reason  to  be 
considered,  it  wills  accordingly.  But  it  by  no  means 
follows,  that,  whenever  our  will  yields  to  a  reason, 
it  is  compelled  to  do  so  by  that  reason.  The  whole 
question,  —  and  I  beg  you  again  to  remark  it,  — 
depends  upon  a  fact  which  you  must  determine  — 


100  JOUFFROV. 

upon  the  fact  whether  you  know  that  the  influence, 
which  the  motive  exercises  over  the  will,  is  a  con- 
straining force  or  not.  For  myself,  I  say  that  my 
inward  feeling  answers  in  the  negative ;  and  that, 
under  the  influence  of  all  motives,  I  retain,  in  every 
case,  a  distinct  consciousness  of  a  power  of  acting 
in  opposition  to  what  they  advise  and  direct.  I  can 
admit,  then,  without  difficulty,  the  two  first  propo- 
sitions of  the  advocates  of  necessity.  They  prove 
nothing  against  the  liberty  of  the  will. 

But  I  should  not  neglect  to  inform  you,  that  Reid 
disputes  the  second  of  these  propositions  as  he  did 
the  first,  and  does  not  admit,  even  in  those  cases 
in  which  only  one  motive  addresses  itself  to  our  will, 
that  we  always  decide  conformably  to  the  motive. 
He  draws  an  argument  from  common  language,  and 
asks  whether  we  have  not  such  words  as  caprice, 
obstinacy,  wilfulness,  and  whether  they  have  no 
meaning.  And  what  do  they  mean,  if  not  that  we 
resolve,  at  any  given  moment,  in  spite  of,  and  in 
opposition  to,  all  motives  then  acting  on  our  will? 
These  words  bear  witness  to  the  fact  that  sometimes, 
under  the  influence  of  a  single  motive,  we  do  not  form 
any  volition,  or  do  not  will  conformably  to  the  motive. 
But  I  repeat,  I  have  not  the  time  to  enter  into  these 
arguments  of  secondary  importance ;  I  limit  myself  to 
the  statement  of  direct  and  decisive  reasonings. 

Let  us  pass  now,  gentlemen,  to  the  cases  in  which 
many  motives  act  simultaneously  upon  the  will ;  and 
Jet  us  consider  them  for  a  moment,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  discovering  whether  it  is  true  that  the 
strongest  motive  always  determines  our  volition,  — 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  101 

for  even  were  it  true,  I  have  already  answered  the 
objection,  —  but  to  observe  and  wonder  at  the  false 
logic,  and  confused  notions,  into  which  the  advocates 
of  necessity  fall,  in  attempting  to  explain  what  takes 
place  within  our  minds. 

It  is  the  strongest  motive,  say  they,  which  deter- 
mines the  will.  What  is  this  strongest  motive,  I' 
ask,  and  how  do  you  measure  the  comparative  force 
of  motives?  Is  that  the  strongest  motive,  according 
to  your  idea,  which  determines  the  volition  ?  If  this 
is  so,  you  are  arguing  in  a  circle ;  and,  instead  of 
showing  that  it  is  the  strongest  motive  which  decides 
the  will,  you  are  merely  saying  that,  as  the  deter- 
mination of  the  will  is  in  conformity  with  such  or 
such  a  motive,  therefore  this  motive  is  the  strongest. 
Arguing  in  this  way,  there  certainly  is  reason  enough 
for  saying  that  the  strongest  motive  determines  the 
will,  since  that  is  designated  as  the  strongest  which 
does  determine  it.  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  to 
judge,  from  effects  in  the  scheme  of  necessity,  of  the 
relative  force  of  motives. 

But,  if  we  cannot  judge  from  effects,  we  must 
find  some  common  measure  by  which  to  decide.  Let 
us  inquire,  then,  what  this  measure  can  be. 

You  understand,  gentlemen,  after  the  description 
given  in  former  lectures,  that  there  are  two  kinds 
of  moving  powers  acting  upon  us  ;  first,  the  impulses 
of  instinct,  or  passion  ;  and,  secondly,  the  conceptions 
of  reason.  Thus,  when  I  am  excited  to  act  from 
sympathy  for  another,  this  impulse  is  a  simple  natural 
emotion  —  a  momentum;  when,  on  the  other  hand, 
1  am  led  to  this  act  from  the  consideration  that  it  is 


103  JOUFFROY. 

conformable  to  duty  or  self-interest,  this  consideration 
is  a  conception  of  reason  —  a  motive,  properly  speak- 
ing. That  these  two  kinds  of  moving  powers  can  and 
do  act  efficiently  upon  my  volitions,  there  can  be  no 
doubt ;  it  is  evident  that  my  resolves  are  often  the 
consequence  of  a  perception  of  my  duty  or  interest ; 
it  is  no  less  evident  that  often,  also,  they  are  the 
issue  of  rny  desires,  passions,  and  natural  impulses. 
Suppose,  now,  that,  in  a  given  case,  motives  of  both 
kinds  act  simultaneously,  and  in  an  opposite  direction 
upon  my  will,  and  I  say  there  is  not,  and  cannot  be, 
any  common  measure  between  them. 

And,  now,  on  what  grounds  can  we  declare,  that  a 
conception  of  the  reason,  or  a  conception  of  interest, 
which,  leads  me  to  any  act,  is  a  stronger  motive  than 
the  present  passion,  which  impels  me  to  do  the  oppo- 
site 1  As  one  of  these  motives  is  a  passion,  and  the 
other  an  idea,  I  find  a  difficulty  in  comparing  them; 
and  I  challenge  the  most  ingenious  to  find  a  common 
measure,  which  can  be  applied  to  two  things  in  their 
nature  so  different,  or  which  can  direct  me  to  a  true 
appreciation  of  their  relative  forces. 

Of  two  impulses,  manifestly  unequal,  it  would  be 
easy  to  determine  the  stronger :  a  vehement  desire 
is  distinguishable  in  our  consciousness  from  one  less 
so.  And  thus,  merely  from  their  vivacity  and  fer- 
vor, we  may  often  recognize  the  stronger  from  the 
weaker  passion.  There  is,  then,  if  you  choose  to  say 
so,  a  common  measure  between  different  impulses  of 
our  sensitive  nature,  which  are  peculiarly  distinguished 
as  emotions.  On  the  other  hand,  of  different  courses 
of  conduct  which  reason  and  self-interest  bring  into 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  103 

contrast,  I  may  see,  that  one  is  much  more  advanta- 
geous than  another.  There  is,  then,  if  you  please,  a 
means  of  comparing  together  different  suggestions  of 
self-interest :  the  suggestion  which  promises  the  most 
for  my  interest  should  have  the  most  power  over  me. 
In  the  same  way,  among  different  duties  which  may 
present  themselves  to  my  judgment,  there  may  be  one 
which  appears  more  obligatory  than  another ;  for  there 
are  duties  of  different  degrees  of  importance,  and  in 
many  cases  I  must  sacrifice  the  lesser  to  the  greater. 
I  perceive,  then,  that,  strictly  speaking,  there  is  a  pos- 
sibility of  comparing  together  the  relative  force  of 
different  motives  originating  from  duty,  and  of  differ- 
ent motives  suggested  by  self-interest,  or,  finally,  of 
different  desires  striving  within  me  at  a  given  moment. 
But  between  a  desire  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  concep- 
tion of  interest  or  of  duty  on  the  other,  where,  I  ask, 
can  you  find  a  standard  of  comparison  ?  If  I  assume 
passion  as  the  measure,  then,  evidently,  passion  will 
appear  the  stronger  motive  ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  assume  interest  or  duty  as  the  measure,  then  desire 
becomes  nothing,  and  duty  or  interest  seems  all  in  all. 
It  depends,  then,  wholly  upon  the  measure  of  compar- 
ison which  I  adopt,  whether  this  or  the  other  motive 
is  strongest ;  which  proves  that  there  is  no  common 
measure  of  comparison  to  be  applied  at  all  times  to 
these  different  kinds  of  motives,  when  we  would 
estimate  their  relative  force. 

Thus,  in  truth,  in  almost  every  case,  to  say  that  we 
yield  to  the  strongest  motive,  is  to  say  what  has  no 
meaning ;  for  in  most  cases  it  is  impossible  to  deter- 
mine the  strongest  motive.  If  I  will  to  be  prudent, 


. 

104  JOUFFROY. 

I  follow  the  motive  of  self-interest ;  if  I  will  to  be 
virtuous,  I  follow  the  motive  of  duty  ;  if  I  will  to  be 
neither  prudent  nor  virtuous,  I  follow  passion ;  and  in 
proportion  as  I  yield  to  passion,  to  enlightened  in- 
terest, or  to  duty,  does  the  merit  of  my  conduct  vary. 
And  here  is  a  marvel  for  the  advocate  of  necessity, 
and  something  which,  in  the  sincerity  of  his  conviction, 
he  well  may  wonder  at.  I,  who  am  not  free,  —  who, 
whatever  resolution  I  have  taken,  have  yet  been  fatally 
determined  to  take  it  by  the  strongest  motive,  —  I  feel 
that  I  am  responsible  for  this  resolution ;  and  others, 
too,  regard  me  as  responsible ;  so  that,  according  as 
I  have  been  impelled  to  this  or  that  act,  do  I  believe 
myself  to  have  merit  or  demerit,  and  pass  sentence  on 
myself  as  reasonable  or  unreasonable,  prudent  or  fool- 
ish ;  and,  in  a  word,  apply  to  myself,  although  I  have 
yielded  necessarily  to  the  strongest  motive,  certain 
expressions  and  names,  all  implying  most  decisively 
and  forcibly  that  I  was  free  to  yield  or  resist,  to  take, 
at  my  option,  this  or  the  other  course,  and,  conse- 
quently, that  this,  so  called,  strongest  motive  did  not, 
after  all,  determine  my  act.  Here,  I  repeat,  is  that 
which  may  well  excite  the  astonishment  of  the  advo- 
cates of  necessity,  and  which  they  should  do  their 
best  to  explain. 

You  see  that  this  doctrine,  seemingly  so  simple  and 
natural  that,  among  many  motives  acting  upon  us, 
the  strongest  inevitably  determines  our  volition,  is  so 
far  from  being  simple,"  that  it  really  becomes  in- 
comprehensible the  moment  we  examine  it  more 
closely. 

When   I   attempt   thus   to   bring  argument  against 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  105 

argument,  for  the  sake  of  proving  that  we  are  free, 
and  that  motives  do  not  exercise  a  controlling  force 
over  us,  I  feel  as  uncomfortable  as  if  I  were  answering 
one  who  should  deny  our  power  of  moving  or  walking. 
To  employ  arguments  in  refuting  such  an  opinion 
seems  like  some  game  of  logic  ;  for- 1  have  to  oppose 
to  this  opinion  a  plain  and  decisive  fact — :a  fact,  the 
consciousness  of  which  I  can  never  lose,  and  which 
is  in  accordance  with  common  forms  of  speech  in 
all  languages,  with  the  universal  faith,  and  with  the 
established  practices  of  mankind.  And  I  smile  to 
think,  that,  when  I  can  utterly  destroy  the  system  of 
necessity,  by  merely  bringing  it  in  conflict  with  this 
fact,  I  should  yet  be  seeking  superfluous  trains  of  rea- 
soning to  oppose  it  with.  This  fact,  which  we  cannot 
escape  from,  is  one  which  consciousness  bears  witness 
to,  when  placed  under  the  influence  of  the  strongest  pos- 
sible motive,  say  self-preservation.  I  feel  distinctly  that 
it  depends  upon  myself,  and  only  upon  myself,  whether 
I  shall  yield  to  or  resist  this  motive,  and  do  or  refrain 
from  what  it  recommends.  I  can  conceive,  indeed,  that 
a  man  may,  in  good  faith,  deny  this  evident  fact ;  for  to 
what  lengths  of  delusion  will  not  the  spirit  of  theory 
and  system  carry  us?  But  I  will  ask  him,  am  I  not 
justified  in  not  admitting  this  peculiar  opinion  of  a 
small  body  of  men,  when  I  see  that  even  they  act  and 
speak  as  if  they  agreed  in  my  opinion  ;  when  I  see  the 
most  logical  among  them  form  a  scheme  of  ethics, 
and  give  rules  for  conduct;  when  I  find  in  every 
tongue  the  words  right  and  duty,  punishment  and 
reward,  merit  and  demerit ;  when  the  whole  human 
race  agree  in  being  indignant  against  him  who  does 


106  JOUFFROV. 

wrong,  and  in  admiring  him  who  does  right ;  when, 
indeed,  there  is  not  an  event  in  human  life,  which 
does  not  imply  necessarily,  and  in  a  thousand  different 
ways,  this  very  freedom  of  will  of  which  I  feel  so 
sensibly  and  deeply  conscious?  I  have  certainly  some 
right  to  feel  strengthened  in  my  opinion  by  so  many 
testimonies  to  its  truth,  and  by  its  perfect  accordance 
with  what  I  see  about  me.  And,  were  there  no 
stronger  objections  against  the  doctrine  which  denies 
human  freedom,  than  this  universal  contradiction 
which  it  offers  to  all  human  belief,  conduct,  and 
language,  to  all  judgments  and  feelings,  it  would, 
even  then,  be  more  completely  answered  than  it 
deserves. 

I  pass  now  to  another  argument  against  the  freedom 
of  the  will,  which  I  will  endeavor  to  set  before  you  in 
the  simplest  form. 

If,  it  is  said,  man  is  really  free;  if  he  is  not  necessarily 
determined  on  every  occasion  by  the  strongest  motive, 
—  all  the  calculations  which  we  make  as  to  men's 
conduct  would  be  ridiculous,  and  there  would  be  no 
means  of  anticipating  a  result.  And,  in  fact,  to  admit 
that  man  is  a  free  being,  is  to  admit  that  his  resolu- 
tions, and  consequently  his  actions,  are  not  the  conse- 
quence of  the  motives  which  influence  his  will.  Now, 
when  I  seek  to  foresee  what  a  man's  conduct  will  be 
in  any  given  circumstances,  I  begin  with  considering 
the  motives  which  ought  to  influence  his  actions  ;  I 
calculate  the  relative  force  of  these  motives,  and,  when 
I  have  found,  as  I  think,  the  strongest,  I  conclude, 
without  hesitation,  that  he  will  pursue  the  course 
which  this  motive  prescribes.  It  is  plain  that  this 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  107 

reasoning,  so  constantly  repeated,  implies  the  truth  of 
the  doctrine  that  the  motives  do  determine  necessarily 
the  volition,  and  that,  of  different  motives,  the  strongest 
does  determine  the  choice. 

I  will  begin  by  the  remark,  that  this  reasoning  upon 
the  future  conduct  of  men,  even  when  we  are  perfectly 
sure  of  all  the  motives  which  will  be  presented  to  them 
when  making  their  decision,  carries  with  it  by  no 
means  the  same  feeling  of  certainty  with  which  we 
form  our  calculations  as  to  physical  events,  whose 
laws  of  operation  are  known.  When  a  law  of  nature 
is  known,  it  is  with  complete  certainty  that  we  predict 
phenomena  which  will  occur  under  that  law ;  but 
instead  of  this,  when  we  try  to  form  a  calculation  as 
to  the  resolution  that  a  man  will  come  to  under  certain 
circumstances,  the  motives  which  can  operate  upon  him 
being  all  supposed  known,  our  reasoning  never  goes 
further  than  to  a  judgment  on  probabilities;  and,  in 
fact,  nothing  is  more  common  in  such  cases  than  to 
find  by  the  event  that  we.  were  deceived.  I  might 
avail  myself  advantageously  of  this  uncertainty,  as 
making  in  favor  of  my  opinion,  and  account  for  it  in 
part  by  the  very  fact  of  human  freedom,  which  the 
advocates  of  necessity  deny.  But  I  will  not  do  this. 
I  prefer  rather  to  ascribe  this  uncertainty  altogether  to 
two  most  evident  and  unquestionable  causes ;  first, 
that  we  can  never  foresee  what  motive  among  the 
many  which  may  influence  his  conduct,  will  present 
themselves  to  the  agent ;  and,  secondly,  that,  having  no 
measure  of  his  sensibility,  his  selfish  passions,  or  con- 
scientiousness, we  cannot  calculate  what  motive  will 
be  the  strongest.  I  will  admit,  then,  that  these  two 


108  JOUFPROY. 

causes  are  the  only  ones  which  render  our  foresight 
of  conduct  uncertain.  But  what  follows  ?  What 
consequence  is  to  be  drawn  from  this  1  This  only, 
that,  if  we  could  know  all  the  motives  which  will 
act  upon  a  man's  will,  and,  moreover,  which  among 
these  motives  will  be  the  strongest,  we  could  predict 
with  certainty  his  conduct;  that  is  to  say,  —  to  express 
it  as  it  should  be  expressed,  —  if  we  could  know  all 
the  motives  which  will  act  upon  him,  and  the  motive 
that  will  determine  his  choice,  we  should  know  what 
his  resolve  will  be.  We  could  predict  his  resolution 
beforehand,  if  we  knew  what  it  was !  Upon  this 
condition,  uncertainty  as  to  the  acts  of  our  fellow- 
beings  would  disappear.  All  this  it  is  easy  enough 
to  conceive  of;  but  does  it  not  prove  that  the  attempt 
to  trace  a  similarity  between  volitions  and  events  in 
the  physical-  world  is  only  a  foolish  playing  upon 
words  and  nonsense  1 

Two  things  are  certain,  gentlemen  :  first,  that  we 
cannot  foresee,  except  in  a  limited  degree,  the  voli- 
tion of  our  fellow-beings  in  any  given  circumstance ; 
secondly,  that  such  anticipations  can  never,  even  in 
the  most  favorable  circumstances,  rise  above  a  high 
probability.  Does  this  limited  power  of  foresight 
of  actions  imply  that  man  is  not  free  ?  or  is  it  recon- 
cilable with  the  fact  of  human  liberty  ?  This  is  the 
question.  Now,  suppose  a  being  who  is  perfectly 
master  of  himself,  —  that  is  to  say,  who  has  the  power 
of  disposing  his  faculties,  directing  them,  and,  con- 
sequently, of  governing  his  conduct;  place  such  a 
being  in  circumstances  where  there  are  two  courses 
to  be  pursued  —  one  evidently  unpromising,  the  other 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  109 

encouraging  —  and  give  him  intelligence  sufficient 
to  see  and  comprehend  this ;  —  precisely  because  he 
is  free,  is  it  not  probable,  and  almost  certain,  that 
he  will  use  his  freedom,  that  is  to  say,  his  power, 
of  governing  his  conduct,  in  such  a  way  as  to  avoid 
the  course  which  threatens  evil,  and  choose  that 
which  promises  advantage  ?  Without  doubt.  Thus 
supposing  him  free,  we  can  form  very  probable  con- 
jectures as  to  his  conduct.  I  ask,  now,  whether  all 
the  conjectures  which  we  do  or  can  form  as  to  the 
actions  of  our  fellow-beings,  are  not  of  this  kind? 
They  are,  then,  wholly  compatible  with  a  belief  in 
human  freedom.  More  than  this,  they  really  imply 
and  suppose  it;  for  they  begin  always  with  the 
supposition  that  the  being  is  reasonable,  and  that 
he  will  therefore  perceive  the  most  agreeable,  the 
most  useful,  or  the  most  proper  course  of  conduct ; 
which  implies  that,  after  he  has  thus  discovered  what 
it  is,  he  will  be  free  to  follow  it.  For  where  would 
be  the  good  in  reason's  seeing  the  right,  if  there 
was  no  liberty  of  acting  accordingly  1  I  ask,  again, 
is  this  the  way  in  which  we  reason,  when  we  attempt 
to  foresee  the  operation  of  forces  acting  from  neces- 
sity, as  winds,  waters,  the  atmosphere  ?  Which,  then, 
do  our  conjectures  as  to  human  actions  imply,  their 
liberty  or  necessity? 

It  is  a  matter  of  daily  experience,  that  we  resist 
the  force  of  different  motives  originating  in  duty, 
self-love,  or  passion.  Would  such  resistance,  which 
cannot  be  denied,  be  possible  in  a  being  whose 
volitions  were  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  action 
of  motives  or  impulses?  Does  not  this  single  fact 

VOL.    I.  K. 


110  JOUFFROY. 

of  resistance  prove,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  is  not 
by  motives,  as  a  cause,  that  volitions  are  produced, 
as  the  effect,  but  from  the  me,  as  a  true  cause,  which 
deliberates  before  determining?  and  that,  therefore, 
I  am  subject  only  to  the  influence,  and  nowise  to 
the  constraining  force,  of  motive?  But  enough,  and 
too  much,  on  this  subject.  Let  us  pass  to  another 
form  of  the  argument  for  necessity  —  the  last  which 
I  shall  offer  to  your  consideration. 

I  take  up,  as  you  perceive,  only  the  principal 
arguments  by  which  the  scheme  of  necessity  is  sup- 
ported ;  because,  if  I  should  attempt  to  consider  all 
the  weak  as  well  as  strong,  the  incidental  as  well  as 
leading  ones,  the  limits  of  a  lecture  would  be  too 
narrow.  I  confine  myself,  therefore,  simply  to  an 
exposition  of  the  most  important  of  these  reasonings, 
and  give  to  each  as  brief  a  discussion  as  possible. 

There  are  philosophers  who  have  denied  the  free- 
dom of  the  will,  chiefly  on  the  ground  that,  if  men 
were  free,  they  would  be  incapable  of  being  subject 
to  control  or  government ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
say  they,  how  are  men  governed  ?  The  condition 
of  their  being  governed  is,  that  the  rewards  and 
punishments  which  excite  hope  or  fear  should  operate 
necessarily  upon  their  volition;  for,  if  they  do  not 
act  necessarily,  that  is  to  say,  if  their  wills  are  free, 
it  is  evident  that  they  cannot  be  governed.  Do  not 
complain  of  the  weakness  of  this  argument.  1  find 
it  as  weak  as  you  do.  It  is  not  my  duty,  however, 
to  strengthen  the  positions  of  the  system  I  am 
attacking. 

In    such    reasoning    as    this,    there   is   a  manifest 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  Ill 

sophistry  and  confusion  of  language.  Government, 
as  you  well  know,  is  of  two  kinds  —  physical  and 
moral.  Physical  government  acts  by  constraint,  moral 
government  by  influence.  If  I  have  some  puppets 
before  me,  and  hold  in  my  hand  the  strings  which 
are  attached  to  their  limbs,  I  may  truly  be  said  to 
govern  the  puppets ;  there  is  nothing  contradictory 
in  the  expression ;  yet  every  one  feels  that  the 
expression  is  metaphorical.  We  say,  too,  that  the 
puppets  obey  the  impulse  which  I  communicate  to 
them  ;  but  we  feel  here,  too,  that  this  word  obedience 
has  a  metaphorical  sense,  as  the  word  government 
had  before. 

To  pretend  that  men,  before  they  can  be  subject  to 
government,  must  be  influenced  in  their  actions  by 
those  who  govern  them,  as  puppets  are  by  him  who 
pulls  the  wires,  is  an  opinion  as  utterly  opposed  to 
common  sense  as  can  well  be  imagined.  The  fact  is, 
that  when  a  legislator  threatens  with  penalties  those 
who  infringe  a  law,  or  promises  rewards  to  those  who 
obey  it,  he  has  no  thought  of  constraining,  as  with 
physical  force,  the  will  of  those  to  whom  he  offers  this 
twofold  sanction  of  the  law ;  his  only  intention  is  to 
give  rise  to  hopes  and  fears  which  may,  in  the  case 
proposed,  act  as  motives  on  their  volition.  He  takes 
men  as  they  are ;  he  shows  them,  if  he  is  wise  and 
just,  what  is  their  true  duty,  their  real  interest ;  he  calls 
this  a  law ;  and  then,  to  enforce  the  obligation  which 
this  duty  imposes,  and  strengthen  the  desire  which 
their  interests  awaken,  he  superadds  promises  and 
threats.  Does  this  imply  that  he  considers  men  as 
puppets?  Just  the  contrary.  If  he  thought  men  ma- 

+- 


112  JOUFFROY. 

chines,  he  would  not  attempt  to  enforce  the  law  by 
exhibiting  to  them  its  justice  or  expediency  ;  for  these 
conceptions  of  the  reason  do  not  act  like  material 
forces,  by  necessary  impulsion.  He  would  not  menace 
them  with  penalties,  he  would  not  promise  reward ;  for 
menaces  and  promises  act  only  through  the  medium 
of  reason  and  passion,  and  not  as  a  constraining  force. 
This  is  the  way  in  which  he  who  would  govern  men 
attempts  it ;  and  when  he  secures  their  obedience,  he 
knows  that  it  is  in  this  way  he  has  done  it ;  and  herein 
is  discovered  the  true  and  proper  meaning  of  the  words 
government  and  obedience.  These  words,  in  their 
proper  acceptation,  imply  the  liberty  of  the  subject  of 
government ;  and  it  is  only  in  a  metaphorical  sense 
that  we  employ  them  when  we  speak  of  governing  the 
puppets,  or  of  their  obeying  us.  Whoever,  then,  as- 
serts that  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  government,  if 
man  is  a  free  being,  places  himself  in  direct  opposition 
to  common  forms  of  speech,  and  to  the  only  true 
meaning  of  these  very  words,  government  and  obedience, 
which,  far  from  excluding  the  idea  of  the  liberty  of  the 
governed,  necessarily  implies  it,  and  never  could  have 
been  invented  without  this  idea  of  liberty. 

Such  is  the  difference  between  physical  and  moral 
government.  No  man  of  common  sense  can  fail  to 
perceive  a  distinction  which  is  clear  as  the  day.  To 
influence  and  to  compel  are  two  wholly  dissimilar 
acts.  To  be  subject  to  influence,  a  being  must  be 
supposed  to  have  the  faculties  of  comprehension  and 
of  choice  —  in  a  word,  freedom  of  will.  Compulsion 
supposes  nothing  of  the  kind.  We  compel  beings 
who  have  no  intelligence,  no  freedom  of  choice.  We 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  113 

influence  beings  who  are  endowed  with  these  capaci- 
ties. Suppress  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  of  intelli- 
gence, and  the  word  influence  has  no  legitimate  sense 
in  which  it  can  be  applied,  any  more  than  the  words 
government,  or  obedience,  or  a  thousand  others,  with 
which  all  languages  are  filled,  and  which  are  all 
genuine  products  of  our  moral  nature. 

Do  not  ascribe  this  long  discussion,  into  which  I 
have  entered,  to  any  fear  of  disastrous  consequences 
upon  the  mind  of  our  age  from  this  system  of  necessity. 
I  am  entirely  at  ease  on  that  subject.  And  by  what  I 
have  said,  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  have  either  strength- 
ened or  weakened  your  clear  conviction  and  profound 
consciousness  of  moral  freedom.  But  these  ideas, 
which  we  have  been  considering,  enter  into  great  sys- 
tems of  philosophy  taught  by  distinguished  men  ;  and 
therefore  it  has  been  impossible  wholly  to  pass  them  by. 
As  you  well  know,  a  warm  controversy  was  raised, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  by  the 
most  celebrated  philosophers  of  that  era,  in  which 
Clarke,  Leibnitz,  Collins,  following  Hobbes  and 
Spinoza,  whose  strange  doctrines  had  disturbed  all 
the  notions  of  common  sense,  took  part.  This  contro- 
versy was  a  great  event  at  the  time ;  it  seemed  as  if 
man's  moral  freedom  would  perish  utterly,  if  it  could 
not  be  saved  from  some  empty  sophisms.  The  result, 
however,  was,  that  facts  were  so  firmly  established,  the 
meaning  of  words  so  accurately  fixed,  and  questions, 
before  confounded  in  most  minds,  so  separated  and 
disengaged,  that  the  work  of  establishing  for  the 
freedom  of  the  will  the  same  place  in  science  that  it 

K2 


114 


JOUFFROY. 


had  always  held  in  common  sense  became  compara- 
tively easy.  By  the  mass  of  mankind  this  doctrine 
is  never  doubted;  their  words,  acts,  and  thoughts, 
prove  that  they  admit  it  without  a  question. 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  115 


LECTURE    V. 

SYSTEM   OP   MYSTICISM. 

,      "  \. 

GENTLEMEN, 

OP  the  four  great  systems  implying  the 
impossibility  of  a  law  of  human  obligation,  I  have, 
in  my  last  lecture,  exhibited  the  first  —  the  system 
of  necessity.  You  have  seen  this  system  under  three 
different  forms ;  that  is  to  say,  as  arriving,  by  three 
different  ways,  at  the  common  conclusion,  that  man 
is  not  a  free  being.  Hobbes,  displacing  liberty  from 
its  rightful  sphere,  and  denying  that  it  exists  where 
only  it  is  to  be  found,  while  falsely  affirming  its 
existence  elsewhere,  preserves  the  name,  while  he 
destroys  the  reality.  Hume  gives  up  both;  for,  by  . —  *o  • 
destroying  the  idea  of  an  efficient  cause  altogether, 
he  makes  it  impossible  that  the  question  of  liberty 

should  be   discussed   at   all.     Other  philosophers,  too,. ^<J - 

numerous  to  be  named,  arrive  at  the  same  result, 
by  asserting  that  motives  necessarily  determine  the 
wil1.  Such  are  the  three  forms,  under  which  I  have 
successively  exhibited  the  system  of  necessity,  and 
which  I  have  in  turn  endeavored  to  refute.  I  would 
here  leave  the  consideration  of  this  system,  and  pass 


1 16  JOUFFROY. 

immediately  to  the  system  of  mysticism,  which  I 
proposed  as  the  subject  of  this  lecture,  were  there 
not,  among  the  forms  under  which  the  doctrine  of 
necessity  has  been  advocated,  yet  a  fourth,  sufficiently 
famous  and  remarkable  to  demand  some  consideration. 
I  will  give  you  a  rapid  sketch  of  it,  and  then  pass 
to  the  system  of  mysticism,  which,  as  I  have  said, 
will  be  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture. 

This  fourth  form  of  the  doctrine  of  necessity  is 
that  which  is  based  upon  the  seeming  incompatibility 
of  human  freedom  with  divine  foreknowledge.  This 
is  the  argument  of  its  advocates.  There  is  but  one 
alternative:  either  man  is  free,  and  then  it  must  be 
impossible  to  foresee  his  volitions,  or  else  his  volitions 
can  be  foreseen,  and  then  it  is  impossible  that  he 
should  be  free.  We  must  sacrifice  our  belief  in 
human  freedom,  or  our  faith  in  divine  foreknowledge. 
We  can  choose  for  ourselves ;  but,  for  themselves, 
the  advocates  of  this  system  do  not  hesitate  to  give 
up  the  idea  of  human  liberty. 

I  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  philosophy  is 
by  no  means  obliged  to  give  a  full  explanation  of 
all  things  —  and  for  this  very  good  reason,  that  the 
human  mind  being  limited,  it  cannot  explain  all 
things.  Philosophy  does  not  explain,  and  is  not 
bound  to  explain,  more  than  the  human  mind  can 
comprehend.  The  boundary  of  human  comprehension 
is  the  boundary  of  philosophy.  She  has  no  need 
of  carrying  her  explanation  further.  Supposing,  then, 
that  the  mind  cannot  reconcile  human  liberty  with 
the  a  priori  conception  of  the  foreknowledge  of  God, 


t 

-L^ 


ku 


,'     lr     &#tr*~    -•'.. 
.J..M 

f.*^> 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  117 

it  by  no  means  follows  that  the  fact  of  human  liberty, 
or  that  the  conception  of  the  divine  foreknowledge, 
should  be  sacrificed  ;  it  only  follows  that  the  mind, 
comprehending  the  idea  that  God  must  foresee  the 
future,  and  finding,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that 
man  is  free,  is  not  able  to  explain  how  these  two  facts 
can  be  reconciled. 

The  only  condition  which  can  make  it  necessary  for 
us  to  sacrifice  our  faith  either  in  human  liberty  or 
in  divine  foreknowledge,  is,  that  there  is  an  absolute 
contradiction  between  these  two  ideas  ;  such  a  contra- 
diction as  there  would  be  between  the  two  propositions, 
two  and  two  make  four,  two  and  two  do  not  make 
four.  In  this  case,  gentlemen,  but  in  this  case  only, 
where  reason  distinctly  perceives  it  to  be  impossible 
that  what  we  conceive  of  God  and  what  we  feel  in 
ourselves  should  both  be  absolutely  true,  should  we  be 
bound  to  sacrifice  the  conception  to  the  fact,  or  the 
fact  to  the  conception  ;  for  then,  and  then  only,  would 
all  chance  of  reconciling  the  conflicting  evidence  on 
which  they  rest  be  destroyed. 

Suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  this  was  really  the  case  ; 
then,  for  myself,  I  say,  that,  forced  in  this  supposed 
extremity  to  choose,  I  should  feel  bound  to  sacrifice 
ray  faith  in  divine  foreknowledge. 

The  fact  of  human  liberty  is  something  of  which 
we  are  much  more  certain  than  we  can  be  of  divine 
foreknowledge.  Why?  For  this  excellent  reason  — 
the  idea  that  God  foresees  the  future,  is  but  a  conse- 
quence from  our  idea  of  God.  Now,  the  idea  which 
men  form  of  God  must  evidently  be  a  most  incomplete 
one;  for  it  is  impossible  that  human  reason  should,  in 


118  JOUFFROY. 

its  weakness,  comprehend  God,  who  is  infinite.  Should 
we  place  an  idea,  which  is  but  a  consequence  of  a 
most  imperfect  conception  of  a  Being  who  is  infinite, 
in  comparison  with  a  fact  falling  under  our  immediate 
observation  ?  This  would  not  surely  be  the  part  of 
good  sense.  If,  then,  we  do  perceive  an  absolute  con- 
tradiction between  the  divine  foreknowledge  and  human 
liberty,  and  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  give  up  one  or 
the  other,  it  must  be  our  belief  in  the  divine  foreknowl- 
edge. For  we  are  more  sure  that  we  are  free  beings, 
than  we  can  be  that  God  foresees  the  future.  No  such 
contradiction,  however,  really  exists;  it  is  but  an 
illusion,  as  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  prove. 

To  begin,  then,  with  a  very  simple  remark  :  if  we 
conceive  that  foreknowledge  in  the  divine  Being  acts 
as  it  does  in  us,  we  run  the  risk  of  forming  a  most 
incorrect  notion  of  it,  and,  consequently,  of  seeing  a 
contradiction  between  it  and  liberty,  that  would  dis- 
appear altogether  had  we  a  truer  notion.  Let  us  con- 
sider that  we  have  not  the  same  faculty  for  foreseeing 
the  future  as  we  have  of  reviewing  the  past  ;  and  even 
in  cases  where  we  do  anticipate  it,  it  is  by  an  induction 
from  the  past.  This  induction  may  amount  either  to 
certainty,  or  merely  to  probability.  It  will  amount  to 
certainty  when  we  are  perfectly  acquainted  with  neces- 
sary causes,  and  their  law  of  operation.  The  effects 
of  such  causes  in  given  circumstances  having  been 
determined  by  experience,  we  can  predict  the  return 
of  similar  effects  under  similar  circumstances  with 
entire  certainty,  so  long  at  least  as  the  present  laws 
of  nature  remain  in  force.  It  is  in  this  way  that  we 
foresee,  in  most  cases,  the  physical  occurrences,  whose 

J^  '  *^ 


/ 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  119 

law  of  operation  is  known  to  us ;  and  such  foresight 
would  extend  much  further,  were  it  not' for  unexpected 
circumstances  which  come  in  to  modify  the  result. 
This  induction  can  never  go  beyond  probability,  how- 
ever, when  we  consider  the  acts  of  free  causes  ;  and 
for  the  very  reason  that  they  are  free,  and  that  the 
effects  which  arise  from  such  causes  are  not  of  neces- 
sary occurrence,  and  do  not  invariably  follow  the  same 
antecedent  circumstances.  Where  the  question  is, 
then,  as  to  the  acts  of  any  free  cause,  we  are  never 
able  to  foresee  it  with  certainty,  and  induction  is 
limited  to  conjectures  of  probability. 

Such  is  the  operation,  and  such  are  the  limits  of 
human  foresight.  Our  minds  foresee  the  future  by 
induction  from  the  past ;  this  foresight  can  never  attain 
certainty  except  in  the  case  of  causes  and  effects 
connected  by  necessary  dependence ;  when  the  effects 
of  free  causes  are  to  be  anticipated,  as  all  such  effects 
are  contingent,  our  foresight  must  be  merely  con- 
jecture. 

If,  now,  we  attempt  to  attribute  to  the  Deity  the 
same  mode  of  foresight  of  which  human  beings  are 
capable,  it  will  follow,  as  a  strict  consequence,  that,  as 
God  must  know  exactly  and  completely  the  laws  to 
which  all  the  necessary  causes  in  nature  are  subject  — 
laws  which  change  only  according  to  his  will,  —  he  can 
loresee  with  absolute  certainty  all  events  which  will 
take  place  in  the  future.  The  certain  foresight  of 
effects,  therefore,  which  is  to  us  possible  only  in  par- 
ticular cases,  and  which,  even  then,  is  always  liable  to 
the  limitation  that  the  actual  laws  of  nature  are  not 
modified,  —  this  foresight,  which,  even  when  most  sure, 


120  JOUFFROY. 

is  limited  and  contingent,  must  be  complete  and  abso- 
lute certainty  in  God,  supposing  his  foreknowledge  to 
be  of  like  kind  with  ours. 

But  it  is  evident  that,  according  to  this  hypothesis, 
the  Deity  cannot  foresee  with  certainty  the  volitions 
of  free  causes  any  more  than  we  can  ;  for,  as  his  fore- 
sight is  founded,  as  ours  is,  upon  the  knowledge  of  the 
laws  which  govern  causes,  and  as  the  law  of  free  causes 
I  is  precisely  this,  that  their  volitions  are  not  necessary, 
God  cannot  calculate,  any  more  than  a  human  being 
can,  the  influence  of  motives,  which,  in  any  given  case, 
may  act  upon  such  causes.  Even  his  intelligence  can 
lead  no  further  than  to  conjectures,  more  probable, 
indeed,  than  ours,  but  never  amounting  to  certainty. 
According  to  this  hypothesis,  we  jnust,  therefore,  say 
either  that  God  can  foresee,  certainly,  the  future 
volitions  of  men,  and  that  man,  therefore,  is  not  a  free 
being,  or  that  man  is  free,  and  that  God,  thereforej 
cannot,  any  more  than  we  can,  foresee  his  volitions 
with  certainty ;  and  thus  divine  prescience  and  human 
free-will  are  brought  into  direct  contradiction. 

But,  gentlemen,  why  must  there  be  this  contradic- 
tion 1  Merely  because  we  suppose  that  God  foresees 
the  future  in  the  same  way  in  which  we  foresee  it ; 
that  his  foreknowledge  operates  like  our  own.  Now, 
is  this,  I  ask,  such  an  idea  as  we  ought  to  form  of 
divine  prescience,  or  such  an  idea  as  even  the  par- 
tisans of  this  system,  which  I  am  opposing,  form  1 
Have  we  any  reason  for  thus  imposing  upon  the  Deity 
the  limitation  of  our  own  feebleness  ?  I  think  not. 

Unendowed,  as  we  are,  with  any  faculty  of  foresee- 
ing the  future,  it  may  be  difficult  for  us  to  conceive  of 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  12i 

such  a  faculty  in  God.  But  yet  can  we  not  from  anal- 
ogy form  such  an  idea  1  We  have  now  two  faculties 
of  perception  —  of  the  past  by  memory,  of  the  present 
by  observation ;  can  we  not  imagine  a  third  to  exist  in 
God  —  the  faculty  of  perceiving  the  future,  as  we  per- 
ceive the  past  ?  What  would  be  the  consequence  ? 
This :  that  God,  instead  of  conjecturing,  by  induction, 
the  acts  of  human  beings  from  the  laws  of  the  causes 
operating  upon  them,  would  see  them  simply  as  the 
results  of  the  free  determinations  of  the  will.  Such 
perception  of  future  acts  no  more  implies  the  necessity 
of  those  actions,  than  the  perception  of  similar  acts  in 
the  past.  To  see  that  effects  arise  from  certain  causes 
is  not  to  force  causes  to  produce  them  ;  neither  is  it  to 
compel  these  effects  to  follow.  It  matters  not  whether 
such  a  perception  refers  to  the  past,  present,  or  future  ; 
it  is  merely  a  perception;  and,  therefore,  far  from 
producing  the  effect  perceived,  it  even  presupposes  this 
effect  already  produced. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  this  vision  of  what  is  to  be 
is  an  operation  of  which  our  minds  easily  conceive. 
It  is  difficult  to  form  an  image  of  what  we  have  never 
experienced  ;  but  I  do  assert,  that  the  power  of  seeing 
what  no  longer  exists  is  full  as  remarkable  as  that 
of  seeing  what  has  as  yet  no  being,  and  that  the  reason 
of  our  readily  conceiving  of  the  former  is  only  the 
fact  that  we  are  endowed  with  such  a  power  :  to  my 
reason,  the  mystery  is  the  same. 

But  whatever  may  or  may  not  be  in  reality  the  mode 
of  divine  foreknowledge,  or  however  exact  may  be 
the  image  which  we  attempt  to  form  of  it,  it  always, 
I  say,  —  and  this  is  the  only  point  I  am  desirous  of 

VOL.    I.  L 


122  JOUFFROY. 

proving,  —  it  always  remains  a  matter  of  uncertainty, 
which  cannot  be  removed,  whether  the  divine  fore- 
knowledge is  of  a  kind  like  our  own,  or  not ;  and  as,  in 
the  one  case,  there  would  not  be  the  same  contra- 
diction that  there  is  in  the  other,  between  our  belief 
in  divine  foreknowledge  and  human  freedom,  it  is 
proved  true,  I  think,  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  assert 
the  existence  of  such  a  contradiction,  and  the  necessity 
that  human  reason  should  choose  between  them. 

To  what  conclusion,  then,  does  philosophy  come  in 
this  grand  controversy  as  to  human  freedom  and  divine 
foreknowledge?  To  this,  gentlemen,  that  there  are  two 
things  in  which  we  believe  —  one,  on  the  unquestionable 
authority  of  observation ;  the  other,  on  the  far  weaker 
authority  of  our  reasonings,  without  our  being  able 
clearly  to  explain  Tiow  they  coexist.  And  here  we 
ought,  by  common  consent,  to  leave  the  subject ;  for 
philosophy  should  know  how  to  respect  its  true  limits, 
under  penalty  of  losing  all  claim  to  the  respect  and 
confidence  of  men. 

I  have  now  done  with  the  system  of  necessity,  and 
pass  on  to  the  consideration  of  mysticism. 

Every  philosophical  system  has  its  foundation  and 
ground-work  in  human  nature ;  the  only  thing  difficult 
is,  to  have  such  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  as  will 
enable  us  to  discover  the  root  and  source  of  each 
system.  With  this  knowledge,  we  can  understand, 
thoroughly,  each  opinion ;  and  the  principle  once 
grasped,  we  easily  gain  a  clear  understanding  of  its 
consequences.  Vague  and  obscure  as  is  the  system 
of  mysticism,  I  will  yet  endeavor  to  point  out  the 
facts  in  human  nature  from  which  it  originates  and 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  123 

\vhich  it  attempts  to  express ;  I  will  invite  your  close 
attention,  for  the  trains  of  thought  to  be  followed  are 
very  subtile. 

Mysticism  rests  on  two  facts,  already  described  in 
the  sketch  that  I  have  given  of  human  nature.  Let 
me  recall  them  to  your  minds.  In  the  first  place, 
then,  I  showed  how  great  the  difference  is  between 

*        .  -   .  o 

the  absolute  destiny  of  man,  as  it  would  result  from 
his  nature,  and  the  actual  destiny  which  an  individual, 
placed  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  attains 
in  this  life.  In  other  words,  I  showed  you,  that,  with 
all  our  efforts,  we  cannot  attain  to  more  than  a  very 
small  part  of  the  good  which  our  nature  craves,  or 
accomplish,  except  in  an  imperfect  degree,  our  destiny. 
In  the  second  place,  I  showed  you,  that  we  cannot, 
in  this  life,  secure  even  that  measure  of  good  which  is 
actually  within  our  reach,  except  on  the  condition  of 
substituting  for  the  natural  action  of  our  faculties 
another  mode  of  action,  whose  characteristic  is  con 
centration,  and  whose  consequence  is  fatigue. 

From  these  two  facts  it  results,  on  the  one  hand, 
that  human  life  can,  at  the  best,  afford  but  very  im- 
perfect good;  and,  on  the  other,  that  no  human  being 
can  acquire  even  this  good,  without  an  effort  which  is 
not  natural,  and  which  is  followed  by  a  fatigue  that 
can  be  relieved  only  by  allowing  the  bent  spring  to  be 
relaxed,  and  our  faculties  to  return  to  their  natural 
and  primitive  mode  of  action. 

From  these  two  facts  springs  mysticism.  If  the  only 
means  of  obtaining  any  good  in  this  life  is  an  effort 
which  is  against  nature,  —  and  if,  even  then,  a  man, 
the  most  favored  by  circumstances,  only  secures  the 


124  JOUFFROY. 

shadow  of  good,  —  is  it  not  plain  that  the  pursuit  and 
acquisition  of  good  is  not  the  end  of  the  present  life, 
and  that  to  hope  or  search  for  it  implies  an  equal  de- 
lusion ?  What  ?  can  a  thing  not  to  be  found  in  life 
really  be  the  end  of  life,  —  a  thing,  whose  shadow 
even  we  cannot  reach,  without  doing  violence  to  our 
nature,  and  submitting  all  our  faculties  to  an  insupport- 
able constraint?  Man  has  truly  an  end  and  destiny  to 
attain ;  but  to  seek  it  here  is  folly,  for  our  lot  in  life 
is  disappointment.  To  resign  ourselves  to  our  weak- 
ness, —  to  renounce  all  effort  and  action,  —  to  await 
death,  that  it  may  break  our  fetters,  and  place  us  in 
an  order  of  things  where  the  accomplishment  of  our 
end  will  be  possible,  —  this  is  our  only  reasonable 
course,  our  only  true  vocation. 

It  may  be  proved  that  this  is  the  true  origin  of  the 
system  of  mysticism,  by  the  fact  that  the  historical 
eras,  when  it  has  been  most  fully  developed,  have 
been  precisely  those  in  which  human  efforts  were 
most  discouraged,  by  profound  experience  of  their 
fruitlessness. 

Ages  of  tyranny,  of  skepticism,  and  of  moral  degra- 
dation, have  been  those  in  which  mysticism  has  been 
professed  most  earnestly,  and  actually  appeared  in 
practice  on  the  largest  scale.  The  greatest  develop- 
ment of  mysticism  was  in  the  age  which  immediately 
succeeded  the  introduction  of  Christianity  ;  and  you 
well  know  what  the  state  of  the  world  then  was.  A 
skepticism,  the  most  universal  in  philosophy,  cooper- 
ated with  an  utter  corruption  of  morals,  and  a  most 
degrading  tyranny,  during  this  decline  of  the  Roman 
empire.  Truth,  virtue,  liberty,  seemed  only  words ; 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  125 

every  thing  united  to  prove  to  man  the  futility  of 
effort,  and  thus  to  discourage  it.  Why,  if  truth  could 
not  be  discovered,  should  he  seek  it  ?  Why,  if  there 
were  no  moral  distinctions,  should  he  prefer  one 
course  of  conduct  to  another  ?  Why,  indeed,  should 
he  act  at  all,  if  ages  of  heroism  and  victory  had  but 
served  to  introduce  an  era  of  society  wholly  wretched 
and  inglorious,  under  the  sway  of  weak  and  bloody 
tyrants  ?  Such  was  the  lesson  to  man  which  this  era 
seemed  to  utter.  On  the  other  hand,  a  flood  of  bar- 
barism roared  round  the  gates  of  the  empire ;  and 
this  threatening  sign  of  fatal  and  inevitable  ruin  de- 
clared the  vanity  of  earthly  things,  the  emptiness  of 
human  power,  yet  louder,  perhaps,  than  the  voice 
of  the  past  and  the  aspect  of  the  present.  Add  yet 
further,  that  the  exalted  spirituality  of  the  Christian 
faith  gave  a  new  impulse  to  those  minds,  already 
filled  with  contempt  for  earth,  by  its  visions  of  heaven, 
and  you  will  readily  see  that,  if  I  have  truly  pointed 
out  the  principle  of  mysticism,  never  were  circum- 
stances more  favorable  for  its  growth. 

Hence  that  wonderful  passion  for  seclusion  which 
peopled  the  deserts,  which  led  to  the  solitudes  of  the 
Thebais  one  half  the  population  of  Egypt,  and,  de- 
veloping all  the  elements  of  mysticism  contained  in 
Christianity,  perverted  the  true  spirit  of  this  religion, 
and  merged  it  in  effeminate  asceticism.  This  ascetic 
spirit  did  not,  indeed,  triumph,  but  it  sowed  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Christian  church,  the  fruitful  seeds  of 
monkish  principles  —  seeds  so  long-lived  and  prolific, 
that  fifteen  centuries  have  not  sufficed  to  exhaust  them, 

L2 


126  JOUFFROY. 

and  which  were  developed  with  redoubled  energy  in 
the  disastrous  era  of  the  middle  ages. 

You  can  conceive  how  the  mystics  were  led  to 
form  the  views  of  life  which  I  have  described. 
Grounds  for  such  misconceptions  exist  in  the  facts 
of  our  nature,  and  in  the  circumstances  of  our 
present  lot.  But  they  did  not  rest  here.  For,  with 
such  conceptions  of  the  present  life,  they  had  to 
explain  how  our  lot  became  what  it  is ;  the  mystery 
was  to  be  penetrated  in  which  a  being  is  involved 
who  thus  sees  his  end  and  destiny,  is  endowed  with 
faculties  necessary  for  its  attainment,  and  yet  sees 
himself  placed  in  the  midst  of  external  circumstances 
which  present  insurmountable  obstacles.  This  state 
of  being  is  intelligible  to  those  who  see  in  the 
present  life  a  necessary  scene  of  probation  for  the 
creation  and  education  of  a  moral  nature,  whose 
trials,  therefore,  are  to  be  courageously  met,  and 
actively  surmounted ;  but,  for  those  who  see  only 
evil  in  our  lot,  without  perceiving  its  use  and  object, 
it  is  but  an  extraordinary  phenomenon,  whose  cause 
must  be  sought  in  some  anterior  scene  of  existence. 
Thus  the  doctrine  of  mysticism  brings  with  it  in- 
evitably either  the  doctrine  of  Manicheism,  or  that 
of  the  fall  of  man.  Only  one  or  the  other  view 
can  explain  the  evils  of  life,  if  we  have  not  embraced 
the  idea  that  the  purpose  and  effect  of  these  is  to 
produce  a  moral  greatness  in  man  which  can  exist 
on  no  other  condition.  Thus  we  see  both  doctrines 
strangely  allying  themselves  with  mysticism,  in  the 
faith  of  the  hermits  of  the  Thebais.  The  world, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  127 

in  their  view,  is  a  place  of  punishment,  where  man 
is  placed  to  expiate  the  sins  committed  by  his  pro- 
genitors, whom  God  had  destined  at  first  for  a  life 
of  perfect  felicity.  Te  bear  with  resignation  this 
chastisement  during  life,  and  wait  for  the  hour  of 
deliverance,  they  thought  man's  highest  duty.  But 
the  principle  of  evil,  the  devil  who  tempted  Eve 
in  Paradise,  was  yet  laboring  to  turn  him  away  from 
this  course  of  patient  submission,  and  to  seduce  him 
into  the  follies  of  worldly  activity,  by  the  promise 
of  all  the  goods  which  life  presents,  and  thus  was 
constantly  deceiving  and  tempting  our  nature.  Hence 
the  trials  by  which  the  sainted  anchorites  were  beset 
in  the  desert,  and  the  state  of  perpetual  warfare  in 
which  the  legends  represent  them  as  living.  These 
two  dogmas,  so  closely  associated  with  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  mysticism,  have  maintained  their 
hold  with  it  in  the  midst  of  Christendom.  By  a 
strange  contradiction,  they  remain  side  by  side  with 
the  doctrine  of  probation,  although  directly  opposed 
to  this  great  view  of  Christian  truth,  which  has 
exerted  upon  humanity  so  powerful  and  useful  an 
influence,  and  has  produced  so  happy  and  grand 
a  revolution  in  the  whole  science  of  ethics. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  three  leading  principles 
of  mysticism.  Let  us  look  now  to  its  effects  on 
conduct.  The  principle  once  established,  these  con- 
sequences flow  naturally  and  spontaneously  from  it, 
and  no  sect  of  mystics  has  escaped  their  influence. 
I  will  take,  as  an  illustration,  the  grand  school  of 
anchorites,  who  introduced  the  monastic  life  into 
the  practices  of  the  church.  You  will  thus  compre- 


128  JOUFFROY. 

bend  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  that  singular 
mode  of  existence,  which  presents  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  phenomena  of  Christian  civilization,  and 
which  we  meet  with  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  of 
development  wherever  mysticism  has  prevailed. 

I  have  explained  at  length,  in  the  courses  of  the 
preceding  years,  two  classes  of  obstacles  which  here 
impede  human  nature  in  its  attempts  to  accomplish 
its  true  destiny.  This  world,  far  from  being  a  place 
where  all  its  constituent  vital  forces  work  together 
harmoniously,  is,  in  fact,  the  battle-ground  of  their 
contention.  Each  force,  in  its  process  of  develop- 
ment, finds  itself  limited  and  restrained  by  other 
forces,  and,  in  turn,  restrains  them.  All  develop- 
ment here  is  incomplete,  and,  even  in  this  imperfect 
degree,  it  is  the  result  of  the  contest  forever  waging. 
Such  is  the  real  condition,  in  this  world,  of  every 
power,  whether  free  or  necessary^  such  is  the  con- 
dition of  human  power,  one  of  the  weakest  of  all ; 
and  hence  its  limited  influence.  The  very  organiza- 
tion" of  this  world  which  surrounds  us,  the  very 
world  itself,  in  other  words,  is  a  source  of  the  evil 
of  the  present  state,  and  renders  fruitless  all  efforts 
to  attain  our  real  end. 

But  what  is  it  that  makes  us  thus  subject  to  the  out- 
ward world?  What  is  it  that  causes  these  various 
forces  to  conflict  with  our  will,  to  restrain  and  check 
it?  It  is  the  body.  Nothing  external  could  exercise 
any  influence  over  us  but  through  the  body.  As  our 
body  is  at  once  material,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the 
necessary  instrument  by  which  our  faculties  act,  the 
external  world  has  power  over  us  by  influencing  the 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  129 

organs  which  we  are  obliged  to  use.  The  body  is 
doubly  an  evil,  then,  by  weakening  our  faculties 
through  the  external  conditions  it  imposes,  and  by 
giving  all  other  forces  in  nature  control  over  the 
development  of  those  faculties.  Thus,  then,  the 
first  source  of  our  want  of  power  is  the  influence 
of  the  external  world ;  and  the  second  is  our  bodily 
organization,  by  which  we  are  subjected  to  this 
influence.  The  world  and  the  body  are  the  two 
great  principles  of  evil  here  below ;  these  are  the 
two  grand  obstacles  which  oppose,  in  this  life,  our 
progress  toward  that  final  good  for  which  we  are 
fitted,  and  which  our  nature  craves. 

Admit  this,  and  what  follows  ?  We  must  expect 
to  find,  in  the  creed  of  mystics,  an  irreconcilable 
hostility  to  the  world  and  the  flesh.  And  this  is, 
in  fact,  the  very  most  prominent  and  striking  charac- 
teristic of  the  mystical  doctrine  and  course  of  life. 

The  anchorites,  who,  in  the  era  which  we  are 
considering,  peculiarly  represented  the  system  of 
mysticism,  used  every  possible  means  to  destroy  the 
influence  of  the  body;  they  declared  against  it  a 
perpetual  and  merciless  warfare;  not  only  would 
they  not  gratify  its  lawful  desires,  but  they  macerated 
it,  scourged  it,  and  sought  to  weaken  and  prostrate 
it  by  every  means  in  their  power  ;  they  went  further, 
and  yet  more  to  testify  the  contempt  in  which  they 
held  it,  and  to  show  external  symbols  of  their  hatred, 
they  clothed  themselves  in  garments  which  concealed 
its  proportions,  as  if  it  were  not  worthy  to  appear 
in  the  sight  of  man,  or  to  occupy  his  attention  for 
an  instant.  And,  in  acting  thus,  the  anchorites  not 


130  JOUFFROY. 

only  endeavored  to  manifest  their  hostility  to  the  flesh, 
they  sought  also  to  weaken  the  hold  of  the  world 
upon  the  soul,  by  annihilating,  as  far  as  they  were 
able,  the  medium  through  which  its  influence  was 
felt.  They  believed  that  the  spirit  would  become 
freer,  and  more  independent  of  the  fetters  which 
bound  it  to  earth,  in  proportion  as  the  body  was 
weakened ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  as  the  carnal 
appetites  were  eradicated,  one  avenue  was  closed 
through  which  the  most  attractive  temptations  of  the 
external  world  gained  entrance  to  the  soul.  In  a 
word,  they  endeavored,  with  all  their  strength,  to 
burst  the  ties  which,  by  uniting  the  soul  to  the 
body,  produced  the  evils  of  the  present  life ;  and 
the  more  they  succeeded,  the  more  did  they  feel 
this  separation  taking  place,  and  that  emancipation 
of  the  soul  for  which  they  sighed  commencing,  although 
it  could  be  completed  only  in  the  hour  of  death. 

This  hostility  to  the  body  they  extended  to  the 
world,  as  the  true  source  of  the  evil  of  which  the 
flesh  was  but  the  instrument.  They  therefore  sepa- 
rated themselves  from  it,  now  by  placing  between 
them  and  it  the  impassable  barrier  of  the  desert, 
now  by  immuring  themselves  in  walls  from  which 
there  was  no  escape,  thus  artificially  producing  that 
isolation  which  they  had  not  the  means  of  seeking 
in  distant  solitudes.  In  the  desert  even,  far  from 
living  together,  they  fled  each  other's  presence ;  and 
the  greatest  saints  avoided  all  neighborhood  of  man, 
and  retreated  further  and  further  into  the  wilderness, 
as  they  saw  neophytes  appear  in  the  vicinity  of  their 
retreats. 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  131 

Within  the  monastery,  it  was  the  same.  Narrow 
cells  separated  each  from  his  fellow,  and  prevented  all 
possible  approach  or  contact  with  human  beings.  The 
monk  despised  every  interest,  pursuit,  and  affection, 
belonging  to  that  world  which  he  avoided  thus  anx- 
iously. Glory,  ambition,  love,  the  purest  and  most 
natural  emotions,  all  the  occupations  of  life,  all  ties 
which  bind  man  to  his  race,  all  forms,  and  laws, 
and  movements  of  society,  were  by  him  detested  and 
proscribed;  proscribed  as  empty  and  delusive;  de- 
tested as  snares  for  the  credulity  of  imagination,  and 
for  (he  blindness  of  instinct.  But  solitude  was  not 
enough ;  he  sought  to  increase  its  horrors  in  propor- 
tion as  he  pushed  to  the  extreme  the  mystical  doctrine 
of  hatred  to  the  outward  world,  and  feared  leaving 
himself  open  to  a  single  temptation  from  desire,  affec- 
tion, or  activity ;  he  dreaded  lest  he  might  be  seduced 
away  from  hostility  to  the  present  life ;  from  this 
painful  effort  of  breaking  every  tie  which  bound  him 
to  earth,  and  from  that  contemplative  longing  for  a 
better  world  which  seemed  to  him  the  only  true  state 
t)f  being  here  below. 

Another  consequence  of  the  principles  of  mysticism, 
not  less  direct  than  hatred  of  the  flesh  and  of  the 
world,  was  contempt  for  action  —  for -action  in  every 
shape  and  mode.  And  the  lives  of  the  mystics  were 
as  true  to  their  principle  in  this  particular  as  in  the 
others  which  I  have  described. 

We  are  impelled  to  action,  gentlemen,  as  you  know, 
by  the  instinctive  tendencies  of  our  nature  demanding 
gratification.  Each  tendency  has  its  peculiar  end, 
and  these  different  ends  determine  the  different  objects 


132  JOUFFROY. 

to  which  human  activity  is  directed.  Different  modes 
of  action  are  to  be  distinguished,  then,  in  our  nature 
Knowledge  is  one  object  of  pursuit ;  hence  the  first 
mode  of  our  activity  —  intellectual  activity.  The  ex- 
ertion of  our  energy  on  the  external  world  is  another 
object ;  hence  physical  activity.  Union  with  beings 
who  have  life,  especially  with  those  of  our  own  race, 
is  an  end  also ;  hence  arises  a  third  mode,  which 
we  call  sympathetic  activity.  Thus  the  seeking  of 
knowledge,  the  exercise  of  our  energies  on  the  external 
world,  and  loving,  are  forms  of  human  activity,  as  our 
nature  aspires  to  the  end  for  which  it  was  made,  and 
which  it  is  impelled  to  pursue  in  these  three  direc- 
tions. Life  is  passed  in  this  threefold  pursuit  and 
effort,  in  the  search  for  these  three  kinds  of  good ;  and 
such  is  the  force  of  the  instincts  impelling  us,  such 
the  natural  energy  of  the  faculties  with  which  we  are 
endowed  for  their  gratification,  that,  however  much 
men  strive  to  subdue  them  or  restrain  their  action, 
they  cannot  wholly  succeed. 

And  yet  this  was  the  wish  of  the  mystics ;  for,  ac- 
cording to  their  convictions,  it  was  not  the  will  of 
God  that  these  instincts  should  be  satisfied  in  this 
life ;  and  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  man  to  realize 
their  satisfaction  was,  therefore,  worse  than  error  and 
folly ;  it  was  rebellion  to  the  commands  of  the  Deity, 
a  concession  made  to  the  everlasting  adversary  of  the 
human  race.  Complete  passivity  —  that  is  to  say,  an 
absolutely  impossible  state  —  was  the  ideal  of  perfection 
to  which  they  aspired  with  all  their  power.  With 
such  an  end  proposed  for  their  pursuit,  really  more 
unattainable  than  the  perfect  happiness  which  they 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  133 

rejected,  it  is  curious  to  observe  the  practical  modes 
by  which  the  mystics  sought  its  accomplishment.  Let 
us  begin  with  intellectual  activity. 

We  arrive  at  knowledge,  in  our  present  state,  as 
you  well  know,  by  attention ;  and  attention  is  the 
concentration  of  intellect,  that  is  to  say,  an  intellect- 
ual effort.  Despising  the  end,  the  mystic  of  course 
despised  the  means ;  and  looking  upon  science  as  a 
dangerous  deceit,  he  was  bound  to  take  all  means  to 
repress  both  the  natural  curiosity,  which  makes  us 
desire  it,  and  the  intellectual  efforts  through  which  we 
seek  it.  But  how  destroy  this  faculty  of  intelligence? 
It  cannot  be  destroyed.  Of  all  modes  of  human 
activity,  that  of  intellect  is  the  most  difficult  to  repress. 
It  acts  even  when  we  wish  most  to  check  it ;  for  it 
must  act  before  we  can  form  such  a  wish.  Fortu- 
nately, there  are  two  modes  of  the  development  of 
the  intelligent  faculty.  At  one  time  passive,  with 
senses  open  to  impressions  from  the  world,  floating  on 
the  tide  of  surrounding  influences,  giving  itself  up  to 
passing  images,  it  receives  a  knowledge  which  is 
vague,  confused,  and  uncertain ;  at  another,  becoming 
active,  and  uniting  all  its  forces,  applying  them,  as  it 
wills,  to  different  objects,  it  examines,  analyzes,  dis- 
tinguishes, acquiring  precise  information  and  clear, 
consecutive  ideas.  In  the  second  stage  only  is  there 
effort.  In  the  contemplative  state  there  is  none. 
Intellect  is,  then,  idly  following  its  natural  bent ; 
active  indeed,  because  activity  is  its  essence,  but  still 
as  little  active  as  it  possibly  can  be,  because  no  act 
of  the  will  sustains,  directs,  or  concentrates  its  ener- 
gies. It  depends  upon  ourselves  to  suppress  this  act 

VOL.  I.  M 


134  JOUFFROY. 

of  will  or  not,  and,  consequently,  to  confine  to  the 
contemplative  mode,  to  which  we  ourselves  contribute* 
nothing,  all  action  of  the  intellect.  This  the  mystics 
attempted  and  succeeded  in.  All,  especially  the  an 
chorites,  forbade  all  intellectual  effort,  and  recom- 
mended a  life  of  contemplation  as  the  only  lawful 
sphere  of  mental  activity.  In  other  words,  a  contem- 
plative life,  and  contempt  for  all  scientific  research, 
have  been  the  two  characteristic  traits  of  every  mys- 
tical sect,  without  exception. 

Now,  to  what  does  contemplation  lead  ?  Abandon 
yourself  for  a  length  of  time  to  this  passive  state  of 
the  intellect;  give  yourself  up  to  all  ideas  and  images 
which  come  confusedly  and  pass  away,  and  soon  you 
will  feel  your  mind  become  clouded  and  perplexed, 
amid  this  ever-fluctuating  series  of  impressions;  a 
stupefaction  and  delirium,  in  which  truth  and  error, 
illusion  and  reality,  can  no  longer  be  distinguished, 
will  come  over  you ;  and  let.  this  state  be  prolonged, 
especially  in  the  night  season,  when  nothing  occurs 
to  interrupt  it,  no  motion,  sound,  or  external  event, 
and  soon  you  will  be  unable  to  tell  whether  you  wake 
or  sleep,  and  will  become  a  prey  to  the  phantoms  and 
chimeras  which  throng  our  dreams.  From  the  state 
of  contemplation  to  revery,  hallucination,  and  de- 
lirium, is  but  a  step ;  this  step  all  sects  of  mystics 
boldly  took.  And  do  not  suppose  that  they  disavowed 
these  consequences.  It  was  a  principal  doctrine  of 
mysticism,  that  the  human  mind  could,  through  con- 
templation, arrive  at  views  of  truth  and  of  actual 
being,  which  it  was  quite  incapable  of,  in  its  ordinary 
condition,  and  could  thus  hold  communications  with 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  135 

the  future,  with  unseen  spirits,  with  God  himself. 
Theurgy  is  the  daughter  of  mysticism;  and,  far  from 
avoiding  these  hallucinations  and  ecstatic  states,  mys- 
ticism sought  them  as  elevated  stages  of  that  contem- 
plative life  which  all  should  strive  to  attain,  and  as 
signal  marks  of  the  favor  of  Heaven  extended  to  the 
saints.  Whence,  now,  this  predilection  of  mysticism 
for  contemplation  1  The  mystic  loved  it,  because,  in 
this  state,  the  mind  was  as  passive  as  it  could  in  its 
nature  be,  and  more  and  more  passive  the  nearer  con- 
templation approached  the  ecstasy  which  was  its  con- 
summation. On  the  same  ground,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  the  mystics  asserted  that  their  intellects  were 
more  clear-sighted  when  they  slept  than  when  they 
were  awake,  infinitely  nearer  to  truth  and  to  God  ; 
and  hence  the  respect  they  paid  to  dreams,  and  the 
care  with  which  they  endeavored  to  interpret  them  ; 
whence  you  see  that  mysticism  ended,  necessarily, 
in  substituting  the  visions  of  reveries  for  science,  as 
the  result  of  intellectual  action,  as  it  had  first  substi- 
tuted contemplation  for  attention,  in  its  mode  of 
operation. 

Another  trait  of  the  mystics,  immediately  connected 
with  those  I  have  already  described,  was  their  con- 
tempt for  precise  language ;  and  this  consequence  of 
their  principles,  if  not  so  immediate  and  direct,  is 
still  a  necessary  one ;  for  a  precise  mode  of  expres- 
sion implies  precise  ideas,  and  these  presuppose  in- 
tellectual effort ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  state 
of  contemplation,  all  ideas  are  suggested  under  the 
form  of  images,  and  images  are  confused ;  their 
knowledge,  then,  was  rather  a  sentiment  than  a  clear 


136  JOUFFROY. 

view,  and  sentiment  forbids  definite  statement.  Pre- 
cision of  language  was,  therefore,  repugnant  to  the 
mystics ;  hence  the  obscurity  of  style,  and  the  fond- 
ness for  symbolic  expression,  which  is  peculiarly  their 
characteristic.  This  trait,  trifling  as  it  may  appear 
to  be,  deserved,  nevertheless,  this  passing  notice. 

Intellectual  activity  cannot  be  wholly  subdued.  The 
mystics  were  forced,  therefore,  to  treat  with  it,  and, 
since  they  could  not  wholly  expel  it,  to  diminish,  as 
they  could,  its  power.  Not  so,  however,  with  physical 
activity.  Depending  wholly,  as  this  does,  on  the  will, 
it  is  only  necessary  to  will  its  suppression  to  effect  it. 
Here,  then,  the  system  could  be  put  fully  in  practice ; 
and  the  mystics  did  not  fail  to  do  so.  Physical  inac- 
tion has  been  always  considered,  recommended,  and 
practised  by  them,  as  one  trait  of  the  ideal  life.  To 
escape  from  the  sphere  of  physical  activity,  it  was 
necessary  only  to  withdraw  to  deserts  and  monasteries, 
and  thus  set  themselves  apart  from  all  the  motives  to 
action  which  prompt  men  in  society.  Even  in  these 
retreats,  it  was  not  without  repugnance  and  regret  that 
they  performed  even  the  indispensable  acts  of  life,  and 
usually  intrusted  the  discharge  of  them  to  neophytes, 
who  had  not  reached  the  state  of  perfection.  The 
most  saintly  anchorites  jealously  sought  this  glory  of 
pushing  to  extreme  the  habit  of  physical  inactivity ; 
and  in  the  lives  of  the  most  famous  may  be  found 
instances  of  excesses  of  this  nature  which  can  only 
be  equalled  by  the  Fakirs  —  the  mystical  sect  of  India. 
Together  with  this  inaction,  the  annals  of  the  desert 

O  • 

and  the  monastery  show  us  their  habit  of  performing 
ihe  most  painful  toils,  arbitrarily  imposed  or  volun- 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  137 

tarily  undertaken;  and  they  were  dictated  by  the 
same  spirit  of  desire  to  weaken  the  strength  of  the 
body  and  show  the  vanity  of  human  effort.  For  this 
end,  the  anchorites  of  the  Thebais  imposed  upon 
themselves,  and  upon  those  who  came  to  unite  with 
them,  the  duty  of  traversing  vast  distances,  beneath 
the  burning  sun,  to  draw  water  from  the  Nile.  And 
for  what  object,  think  you  1  To  water  a  stick  planted 
in  the  sand,  which  could  not  grow.  What  keener 
satire  on  human  activity,  I  ask  you,  —  what  more 
striking  symbol  of  the  fruitlessness  of  effort  could 
be  given,  than  this  painful  toil  for  an  object  so 
frivolous?  Thus,  even  in  their  activity,  did  these 
hermits  seek  to  manifest  that  contempt  for  action, 
which  was  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  system 
of  mysticism,  and  which  the  lives  of  its  votaries  man- 
ifested in  a  variety  of  forms. 

Need  I  show  you  how  contempt  for  the  sympathies 
and  affections,  the  other  grand  spring  of  human 
action,  equally  appeared  in  their  conduct  1  Is  it 
not  plain,  that,  to  withdraw  from  the  world,  and  live 
alone  in  the  desert  or  the  solitude  of  a  cell,  was 
to  burst  at  once  all  social  ties,  and  voluntarily  to 
renounce  them  forever?  There,  as  you  know,  were 
none  to  love ;  no  parent,  spouse,  nor  child ;  no 
brother,  no  friend ;  and  there  these  affections,  thus 
rendered  powerless,  were  to  be  utterly  extirpated 
from  the  heart.  This  was  a  condition  of  mystical 
perfection ;  and  they  were  true  greatest  saints,  who 
had  best  succeeded  in  extinguishing  every  sympathetic 
affection  in  their  nature.  Is  it  not  plain,  too,  that 
this  mutilation  of  their  spiritual  being  was  a  necessary 


138  JOUFFROY. 

consequence  of  their  opinion  as  to  the  present  life, 
and  the  proper  course  of  human  conduct? 

And  now,  gentlemen,  sum  up  what  remains  of 
human  nature,  thus  perfected  and  sanctified  by  the 
mystical  creed,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is  all  absorbed 
and  condensed  into  one  single  state  of  mind  —  con- 
templation; and,  if  I  might  use  the  expression,  I 
should  say  that  all  issues  and  outlets  of  active  powers, 
desires,  and  faculties  in  the  mind  were  wholly  closed, 
save  this  single  one  of  contemplation.  And  this 
is  left  open,  only  because  it  is  beyond  human  power 
|o  close  it. 

In  fact,  mysticism,  availing  itself  of  the  power 
which  God  has  given  us  over  our  faculties  by  the 
exercise  of  will,  used  this  power  to  condemn  them 
to  inaction,  that  is  to  say,  to  suppress  all  our  activity. 
One  faculty  only,  in  one  mode  of  its  action,  resisted 
the  attempt  —  the  intellect;  and  mysticism,  going 
to  the  utmost  limit  of  its  power,  suppressed  the  one 
mode  of  its  action  which  it  could  reach,  and  tolerated 
the  other  only  because  it  could  not  accomplish  an 
impossibility  in  its  destruction.  Thus  was  all  human 
activity  reduced  to  one  mode  of  intellectual  action, 
namely,  contemplation.  But  still  our  faculties  are 
the  necessary  instruments  for  the  satisfaction  of  our 
natural  instincts.  If,  then,  you  reduce  these  instru- 
ments to  a  state  of  inaction,  all  satisfaction  of  our 
impulses  becomes  impossible.  But,  if  one  of  these 
instruments  is  left  in  action,  this,  and  this  one  alone, 
must  labor  for  their  gratification.  By  thus  absorbing 
the  whole  of  human  activity  in  contemplation,  mysti- 
cism forced  our  whole  nature  —  the  mind,  the  affections, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  139 

even  the  body  —  to  seek  in  contemplation  the  gratifi- 
cation of  their  desires.  All  activity,  I  might  say  all 
human  vitality,  finding  this  only  outlet,  and  seeking 
vent  in  this  single  act,  raised  it  at  once  to  its  highest 
stage  of  ecstasy  and  trance ;  and  .  as,  on  the  other 
hand,  all  the  desires  of  human  nature  sought  in  it 
their  satisfaction,  the  state  of  ecstasy  was  believed 
to  include  all  kinds  of  good  to  which  human  nature 
involuntarily  aspires.  Ecstasy,  to  the  eye  of  the 
mystic,  was  true  science,  moral  perfection,  union  with 
God ;  science,  virtue,  knowledge,  all  were  combined 
in  ecstasy.  It  satisfied  the  intellect,  by  bringing  it 
into  communication  with  the  world  of  truth  which  was 
only  revealed  in  the  state  of  trance.  It  satisfied  the 
activity  of  our  nature,  by  exhibiting  to  it  the  state  of 
perfection  to  which  it  aspired.  It  satisfied  the  affec- 
tions, by  the  communion  it  offered  with  God,  the  Being 
most  amiable  and  lovely  of  all  beings,  —  a  communion 
to  be  yet  closer  in  another  life.  Thus  the  state  of 
ecstasy  satisfied  all  wants,  and  mysticism,  though 
appearing  to  destroy,  really  destroyed  no  power ;  our 
activity,  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  though  turned 
from  their  natural  pursuits,  were  not  eradicated,  but, 
concentrated  in  contemplation,  they  put  forth  all 
their  energy  there,  and  there  found  the  satisfaction 
they  craved. 

The  most  perfect  symbol  of  mysticism  was  the 
anchorite  who  conceived  the  idea  of  living  upon 
the  top  of  a  column,  and  who  passed  long  years 
there  in  total  inactivity.  Maceration  of  the  body, 
isolation  from  the  world,  absolute  passivity,  entire 


140  JOUFFROY. 

absorption  of  all  the  faculties  and  all  the  energies 
of  the  soul  in  a  trance  of  twenty  years,  —  here  was 
mysticism  imbodied;  and,  as  if  to  render  the  symbol 
complete,  this  column  was  reared  upon  the  very 
borders  of  the  East,  —  that  land  which,  from  all 
ages,  has  been  the  home  of  mysticism. 

I  feel  sure,  gentlemen,  if  you  have  understood  what 
has  now  been  said,  that  you  will  find  nothing  strange 
in  the  lives  of  the  mystics,  to  which  you  have  now  the 
key  and  the  ready  explanation.  I  hasten  to  consider 
such  consequences  of  this  system  as  are  more  pecu- 
liarly moraL 

What  is  the  strict  consequence  of  this  principle, 
that  man  cannot  accomplish  his  destiny  on  earth, 
and  that  his  highest  duty  is  to  be  resigned  to  his 
condition,  and  to  wait  patiently  for  the  hour  when 
God  will  deliver  him  ?  It  follows,  necessarily,  that 
man  is  to  submit,  and  not  to  act;  and,  as  all  actions 
are  equally  fruitless,  that  there  is  no  moral  distinction 
between  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  is  the 
consequence  to  which  the  mystics,  who  carried  out 
their  opinions  fully,  did  actually  come.  Plotinus 
professed  boldly  this  consequence  of  mystical  doc- 
trines. He  affirmed  that  there  was  no  difference 
between  actions,  —  that  there  could  be  no  good  nor 
evil,  —  and  why?  Because  man  has  no  end  to  pursue 
on  earth,  and  therefore  no  motive  to  determine  him. 
What,  according  to  him,  should  man  be?  A  wholly 
passive  creature,  resigned  and  submissive,  surrendering 
himself  to  a  course  of  events  not  controlled  by  him- 
self, but  emanating  from  God.  Thus  you  see,  that, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  141 

by  the  confession  of  mystics  themselves,  their  system 
led  directly  to  a  denial  that  man  could  have  any 
duties  in  the  present  life. 

If  any  further  proof  is  needed  of  the  truth  of  this 
assertion,  it  may  be  found  in  the  conduct  of  another 
class  of  mystics,  which,  for  the  honor  of  humanity 
be  it  said,  was  infinitely  smaller  than  the  austere 
class.  Setting  out  from  the  principle  that  there  is 
no  moral  difference  between  actions,  these  men  were 
led,  not  to  inactivity,  but  to  licentiousness,  and 
scrupled  not  to  gratify  every  passion,  whether  bodily 
or  mental,  and  abandon  themselves  without  restraint 
to  the  grossest  indulgence.  Of  what  importance, 
in  truth,  is  the  conduct  we  pursue  here  on  earth, 
if  we  have  been  placed  here  only  to  exist  for  a 
time,  while  awaiting  a  higher  life?  Why,  with  such 
convictions,  should  we  desire  a  man  to  resist  the 
invitations  of  pleasure,  and  prefer  a  virtue  of  which 
he  has  no  conception,  when  he  feels  himself  under 
no  obligation,  present  or  future,  to  do  one  thing 
rather  than  another  ?  Obligation  is  destroyed  utterly 
by  the  principle  of  mysticism ;  and  it  is  therefore 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  systems  of  belief 
through  which  the  human  mind  has  been  brought 
to  a  misconception  of  the  law  of  obligation. 

It  remains  for  me  to  show,  in  a  few  words,  that, 
if  such  are  the  legitimate  consequences  of  mysticism, 
the  principle  itself  is  false,  and  consequently  inad- 
missible. 

It  is  true,  then,  —  and  once  again  observe,  that 
every  system  has  some  truth  for  its  foundation, — 
it  is  perfectly  true,  that  man  cannot  attain  the  highest 


142  JOUFFROY. 

good,  and  the  complete  destiny  which  his  nature 
promises ;  and  that  the  degree  of  good  which  is 
accessible  must  be  gained  by  effort,  that  is  to  say, 
by  painful,  self-imposed  restraint.  This  is  true.  But 
the  consequence  which  the  mystics  deduce  from  this 
is  false.  Let  us  suppose  that  man,  as  he  came  from 
the  hands  of  his  Maker,  had  been  placed  in  circum- 
stances entirely  different  from  those  of  the  present 
life,  which  presented  no  obstacle  to  the  full  satis- 
faction of  his  nature,  and  the  complete  development 
of  his  faculties,  —  in  circumstances,  that  is  to  say, 
which  would  have  allowed  of  his  becoming  imme- 
diately and  completely  happy,  without  any  exertion 
on  his  own  part,  —  what  would  have  been  the  con- 
sequence 1  Man  would  have  always  remained  a  thing, 
and  would  never  have  become  what  now  it  is  his 
chief  glory  to  be,  —  for  it  renders  him  like  to  Deity, — 
a  person.  His  condition  would  be  as  follows :  by  the 
mere  fact  of  existence,  his  natural  tendencies  would 
be  developed,  and,  impelled  by  them,  his  faculties 
would  begin  to  act,  and,  without  effort,  would  secure 
for  the  passions  the  good  they  craved.  His  nature 
would  be  happy,  I  will  grant ;  it  would  never  know 
the  pain  which  it  now  experiences  from  the  privation 
of  good,  nor  the  fatigue  which  now  is  the  condition 
of  existence;  but  man  would  have  no  part  in  deter- 
mining his  own  destiny.  Never  would  he  know  its 
true  glory,  never  deserve  its  fulfilment.  It  is  this  very 
difficulty  which  we  meet  with,  in  attempting  to  ac- 
complish our  destiny,  that  awakens  us,  —  makes  us 
comprehend  our  real  end,  discover  the  means  of 
attaining  it,  take  command  of  ourselves,  govern  our 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  143 

faculties,  and  restrain  our  passions,  that  we  may 
succeed  in  the  attempt,  —  it  is  this  very  difficulty, 
in  a  word,  which  calls  out  the  personality  of  our 
being;  for  all  these  acts  are  acts  of  our  personality  — 
the  elements  which  constitute  us  persons.  And  it 
is  in  becoming  a  person  that  we  become  a  cause  - 
a  cause  properly  so  called  —  a  free  cause,  intelligent, 
having  an  end  and  plan,  foreseeing,  deliberating, 
resolving,  capable  of  merit  or  demerit,  and  responsible 
for  acts,  —  in  a  word,  something  like  to  God  —  a 
moral  and  rational  agent  —  a  man.  If  any  one 
prefers,  to  such  a  destiny  as  this  which  the  present 
life  affords,  the  state  of  a  watch,  endowed  with 
sensation,  and  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  feeling  within 
it  the  operation  of  unimpeded  movements,  in  which 
it  has  no  agency  itself,  I  will  not  dispute  the  point 
with  him.  But,  for  myself,  I  cannot  hesitate ;  I 
prefer  infinitely  the  first,  and  thank  God  that  he 
has  allotted  it  to  me.  From  this  view  of  life,  it 
would  appear  that  our  present  condition  is  not  one 
of  punishment,  in  which  we  are  placed  to  expiate 
some  unknown  sin  cbmmitted  by  our  sires,  but  a 
place  of  probation,  into  which  we  were  brought 
that  we  might  become  like  God  —  moral  persons — 
intelligent,  rational,  and  free.  If  we  could  conceive 
of  a  condition  different  from  our  present  one,  exempt 
from  its  miseries,  in  which,  nevertheless,  this  moral 
creation  could  take  place,  then  might  we  doubt  this 
explanation  of  our  present  lot,  and  accuse  God  of 
severity.  But,  as  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how 
this  admirable  creation  of  personality  could  take 
place,  except  under  such  conditions,  the  explanation 


144  JOUFFROY. 

holds  good,  and  God's  ways  are  justified.  If  this 
is  so,  gentlemen,  then  are  there  duties  in  our  present 
state  of  being ;  life  is  not  intended  for  rest  and  inac- 
tion, but  for  the  creation  of  personality,  by  the  exer- 
cise of  intellect  and  energy,  that  is,  by  virtue.  The 
system  of  mysticism  is,  then,  completely  erroneous 
and  false,  although  it  had  its  origin  in  two  actual 
facts  of  human  nature. 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  145 


LECTURE   VI. 

SYSTEM  OP  PANTHEISM. 

GENTLEMEN, 

I  HAVE  exhibited  to  you  two  of  the  systems, 
whose  principles  imply  the  impossibility  of  a  law  of 
human  obligation  —  the  systems  of  necessity  and  of 
mysticism;  and  have  told  you  that  there  were  two 
other  systems  which  tend  to  the  same  conclusion, 
namely,  pantheism  and  skepticism. 

In  the  present  lecture,  I  wish  to  direct  your  atten- 
tion to  the  first  of  these  —  the  system  of  pantheism. 
It  has  appeared  under  different  forms,  both  in  ancient 
and  modern  times,  and  in  every  era  has  received 
various  modifications  from  the  different  philosophers 
who  have  advocated  it  It  would  not  be  difficult  to 
distinguish,  under  all  these  different  forms,  the  es- 
sential principles  of  pantheism ;  and  this,  perhaps, 
would  be  the  proper  course;  but  I  cannot  resist  the 
temptation  of  giving  you  an  idea  of  the  form  under 
which  the  genius  of  Spinoza  has  presented  it.  And 
I  will  attempt,  therefore,  by  an  exposition  of  the 
system  of  Spinoza,  to  introduce  you  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  general  principles  of  pantheism.  Two  reasons 

VOL.    I.  N 


146  JOCFFROY. 

determine  me  to  take  this  course :  first,  Spinoza's 
doctrines,  which  all  speak  of,  though  few  have  taken 
the  pains  to  study  and  comprehend  them,  are  ex- 
ceedingly obscure ;  and,  secondly,  no  one  among  the 
philosophers  who  have  professed  pantheism,  has  de-- 
veloped  its  principles  with  such  an  exact  method, 
and  in  so  original  and  perfect  a  shape. 

One  work  only  of  Spinoza's  was  published  during 
his  life-time,  which  bore  the  title  Tractatus  theo- 
logico-politicus.  This  was  not  so  much  an  exposition 
of  his  system,  as  it  was  a  half-philosophical,  half-his- 
torical treatise,  based  on  its  principles.  But  after  his 
death,  under  the  title  of  "  Posthumous  Works  of 
Spinoza,"  several  of  his  writings  were  published ;  and 
in  these  it  is  that  we  find  his  doctrines  fully  set  forth. 
His  system  is  particularly  unfolded  in  the  Ethica, 
Ordine  Geometrico  demonstrata,  et  in  Quinque  Paries 
distincta.  This  work  comprises,  in  five  books,  the 
most  rigorous  and  complete,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  most  obscure  exposition  of  pantheism  ever  given. 
In  the  First  Book,  De  Deo,  Spinoza  has  defined 
the  idea  which  we  should  form  of  God.  In  the 
Second,  De  Natura  et  Origine  Mentis,  he  has 
deduced,  from  the  idea  of  God,  the  idea  which  we 
should  hold  of  man.  In  the  Third,  De  Natura  et 
Origine  Affectuum,  the  philosopher  has  explained 
the  mechanism  of  the  passions,  which,  in  his  view, 
embraces  the  operation  of  all  phenomena  in  human 
nature.  In  the  Fourth,  De  Servitute  Humana,  seu 
de  Affectuum  Viribus,  taking  for  his  point  of  de- 
parture the  laws  of  human  nature,  which  he  had 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  147 

before  described,  he  shows  the  necessary  order  of 
its  development,  and  the  degree  in  which  necessity 
influences  the  will  of  man.  And,  finally,  in  the 
Fifth  Book,  De  Potentia  Intellectus,  seu  de  Libertate 
Humana,  Spinoza  has  endeavored  to  show  the  nature 
and  operation  of  free-will.  This  portion  of  the 
work  is  extremely  weak,  and  goes  further,  if  I 
mistake  not,  than  the  principles  of  his  system,  ad- 
mitted in  their  strictness,  will  allow.  Such  is  the 
plan  of  the  work.  First,  God ;  next,  man ;  then, 
the  laws  of  his  nature ;  —  these  established,  the  in- 
fluence of  necessity  first,  and,  next,  the  operation 
of  free-will,  in  this  nature;  —  such  is  the  plan  of  the 
Ethica.  On  this  foundation  he  has  reared  a  system 
of  politics  and  ethics,  in  a  second  work,  also  pub- 
lished, which  is,  unfortunately,  but  a  fragment.  It 
is  entitled  Tractatus  Politicus,  in  quo  demonstratur 
quomodo  Socictas,  ubi  Imperium  Monarchicum  Locum 
habet,  sicut  et  ea  ubi  Optimi  imperant,  debct  institui 
ne  in  Tyrannidem  labatur,  et  ut  Pax,  Libertasque 
Civium  inviolata  maneat.  In  these  two  works,  es- 
pecially in  the  first,  are  we  to  look  for  the  system  of 
Spinoza. 

Spinoza's  method  is  as  follows  :  —  He  begins,  as 
geometricians  do,  with  the  explanation  of  certain 
definitions  and  axioms ;  he  then  proceeds  to  announce, 
successively,  different  propositions,  which  he  demon- 
strates, and  thence  passes  in  course  to  the  scholia 
and  corollaries;  as  he  advances,  each  new  demonstra- 
tion implies  the  preceding  one,  and  refers  to  it ;  so 
that,  unless  the  propositions  already  proved,  and  the 
demonstration  of  them,  are  distinctly  kept  in  mind, 


J48  JOUFFROY. 

it  is  impossible  to  comprehend  what  follows.  This 
is  the  cause  of  the  difficulty  in  understanding  the 
work.  And  it  would  be  somewhat  presumptuous, 
even  after  the  most  attentive  study,  to  assert  that 
we  understand  Spinoza  thoroughly.  In  this  case, 
as  in  all  cases  where  the  attempt  is  made  to  apply 
mathematical  forms  of  reasoning  to  subjects  for  which 
they  are  unsuitable,  the  geometrical  method  serves 
only  to  render  the  exposition  complicated  and  obscure. 
In  the  summary  sketch  of  the  system  which  I  am 
about  to  give,  I  can  touch  upon  only  the  principal 
points  of  the  system ;  it  would  require  a  course 
of  many  months  to  give  you  a  thorough  and  detailed 
description  of  it.  In  thus  limiting  myself,  I  cannot 
promise  that  what  I  say  will  be  perfectly  clear  and 
exact.  Such  a  promise  would  imply  that  there  was 
nothing  contradictory  in  the  system  itself,  which  is 
not  my  opinion;  and  it  would  suppose,  also,  that 
I  have  a  perfectly  distinct  idea  of  it  myself,  which 
is  not  the  case;  for  I  am  obliged  to  confess  that, 
after  the  most  attentive  study  that  I  have  been  able 
to  give  it,  there  are  several  portions  of  the  system 
which  still  leave  me  in  doubt,  and  to  which  I  must 
give  a  yet  longer  examination.  But  it  will  be  suffi- 
cient, for  the  object  we  have  in  view,  that  you  should 
seize  the  chief  outlines  of  the  system;  and  I  shall 
have  done  something  towards  enabling  you  to  com- 
prehend its  grand  and  obscure  doctrines,  if  I  awaken 
in  you  the  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  it,  and 
put  you  in  the  right  way  to  approach  the  study  of  it. 

Spinoza   distinguishes   three   classes   of   existences. 
The  first  class  are  those  which  appear  to  us  to  have 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  149 

a  real  existence,  while  yet  they  can  subsist  only 
through  and  in  some  other  being.  The  qualities 
of  body,  and  whatever  we  call  attributes,  properties, 
phenomena,  effects,  compose  this  first  class  ;  they  are 
never  seen  isolated,  and  possessed  of  independent 
existence,  but  always  associated  and  united  with 
something  else,  through  which  they  have  their  being, 
and  separated  from  which  we  cannot  conceive  of 
them  as  having  any  being  at  all.  It  is  not  thus 
with  the  second  class.  These  do  appear  to  have  an 
existence  of  their  own,  and  seem  independent  of 
other  beings ;  they  ape  actual  being,  as  Spinoza 
says;  they  are,  for  example,  all  bodies  which  we 
see  around  us  —  man  himself.  But,  when  we  re- 
flect upon  it,  we  find  that  all  such  things  have 
once  begun  to  exist,  and  that  they  cease  to  exist ; 
in  a  word,  we  discover  that  it  is  not  by  themselves 
and  of  themselves  that  they  hold  and  continue  their 
existence.  Man,  for  example,  feels  that  he  did  not 
originate  his  own  being  ;  that  he  does  not  preserve 
it ;  that  he  has  not  the  power  of  continuing  it ; 
and  that,  therefore,  existence  is  not  essential,  but 
accidental  in  him.  Although,  therefore,  such  things 
do  appear  to  exist  independently,  yet  it  is  but  an 
appearance ;  and  we  find  that,  in  truth,  the  existence 
which  is  in  them  is  not  of  them. 

Existences  of  these  two  classes  are  all  which  fall 
within  the  sphere  of  our  observation.  But  reason 
goes  beyond  them,  and,  reflecting  that  the  existence 
of  all  such  beings  as  we  gain  a  knowledge  of  through 
observation  is  a  derived  one ;  that  it  is  accidental 
and  transient  in  them ;  that  none  of  them  possess 

N2 


150  JOUFFROY. 

it  as  their  essence;  —  concludes  that  somewhere  there 
must  be  a  self-existent  being.  Hence  the  idea  of  a 
third  class,  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  which  is 
self-existence. 

It  is  this  third  class  which  Spinoza  first  considers ; 
and  he  proves  at  once  that  there  cannot  be  more 
than  one  such  being.  For,  says  he,  beings  are  dis- 
tinguished by  their  attributes.  Now,  what  do  these 
attributes  manifest  ?  The  essential  nature  of  the 
being.  If,  then,  two  beings  had  the  same  essence, 
they  would  have  the  same  attributes,  of  necessity ; 
they  could  not  then  be  distinct  from  one  another ; 
they  would  not  be  two,  but  one.  We  cannot  suppose, 
therefore,  that  there  are  two  beings  whose  essence  is 
self-existence.  The  being  whose  essence  is  existence, 
then,  is  one;  and,  as  we  can  only  properly  call  that 
M^JLA.  (  a  substance  which  is  self-existent,  there  is  but  one 
substance,  which  is  God. 

The  unity  of  substance  being  thus  proved,  Spinoza 
demonstrates  successively  that  it  is  necessary  and 
infinite.  It  is  necessary,  because,  to  conceive  of  that 
which  is  self-existent  as  not  being,  is  to  annihilate  it; 
and  it  is  infinite,  because,  as  it  is  possessed  of  all 
being,  nothing  can  exist  beyond  itself.  To  be  finite, 
it  must  be  limited  by  some  other  being ;  and,  as  it 
contains  all  existence,  nothing  which  does  exist  can 
be  exterior  to  it,  or  limit  it. 

Unity,  necessity,  and  infinity  of  substance,  being 
thus  demonstrated,  Spinoza  proves  yet  further  that 
being  is  eternal,  since  it  is  necessary  and  infinite ; 
eHJ^^,  independent,  since  it  is  one  and  infinite ;  and,  finally, 

that   it   is   simple    and    indivisible.      For,    if    it    was 
U^ 

«» 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  151 

composed  of  parts,  he  says,  these  parts  would  be 
of  the  same  nature,  or  of  a  different  one.  If  they 
were  of  the  same  nature,  then  there  would  be  several 
beings  essentially  self-existent,  which  has  been  proved 
impossible ;  and,  if  its  parts  were  of  a  different  nature, 
taken  together  they  would  not  be  equal  to  the  whole, 
and  would  not  produce  it.  Spinoza  enters  fully 
into  a  discussion  of  these  essential  properties  of  the 
one  substance,  and  demonstrates  them  successively. 
Obliged  as  I  am  to  limit  myself,  I  cannot  follow  him 
in  the  developments  of  his  reasoning. 

God  being  thus  self-existent,  his  essence  being 
existence,  and  the  one  substance  being  endowed  with 
all  the  properties  which  I  have  mentioned,  Spinoza 
next  proceeds  to  inquire  whether  the  being,  thus 
proved  to  have  extension,  has  also  thought ;  and  he 
shows  that  it  is  impossible  to  attribute  to  him  ex- 
clusively either  extension  or  thought.  For,  he  argues, 
if  the  self-existent  being  was  in  his  essence  exclusively 
thought,  then  it  would  follow  that  there  could  be 
no  extension ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  his  essence 
was  exclusively  extension,  it  would  then  follow  that 
there  could  be  no  thought.  Consequently,  thought 
and  extension  must  be  considered  as  attributes  of  the 
same  being.  Since  this  being  is  infinite,  all  his 
attributes  must  be  so  too ;  and  thought  and  extension, 
therefore,  are  the  infinite  attributes  of  this  being. 

Spinoza  admits,  that  it  is  not  according  to  the 
common  idea  to  attribute  thought  and  extension  to 
the  same  being ;  but  he  does  not  respect  this  prejudice. 
What  can  be  more  different,  he  says,  than  a  round 
form  and  a  square  one?  And  yet  both  are  modes 


152  JOUFFROY. 

of  the  same  thing,  namely,  extension.  The  idea  of 
substance  implies  only  one  property,  that  of  exist- 
ence;  and  existence  is  as  necessarily  implied  by 
extension  and  by  thought,  as  extension  is  by  a  round 
form  or  a  square  one. 

We  have  an  idea  of  these  two  attributes  of  being, 
because  our  observation  embraces  extended  substances 
and  thinking  substances.  But  these  cannot  .be  the 
only  two  attributes  of  the  self-existent  being,  for  as 
he  is  infinite  he  must  have  an  infinity  of  attributes. 
It  is,  then,  a  characteristic  of  the  self-existent  being, 
that  he  has  an  infinity  of  attributes,  which  are  infinite, 
each  in  its  own  sense,  and  which  all  manifest,  in  a 
peculiar  way,  the  essence  of  this  being,  which  is 
.<  existence.  Thus  a  being  who  is  one,  simple,  eternal, 
infinite,  with  an  infinity  of  attributes,  which  all 
express  in  some  particular  manner,  the  essential 
character  of  this  being,  —  existence,  and  among  these 
attributes,  extension  and  thought,  the  only  two  of 
which  we  have  any  knowledge;  —  such  a  being,  ac- 
cording to  Spinoza,  is  God,  in  the  only  idea  we  can 
form  of  him ;  and  this  idea  is  the  fundamental  one 
of  his  system. 

God  being  the  only  substance,  and  comprehending 
in  himself  all  existence,  it  follows  that  nothing  exists 
except  through  him  and  in  him  ;  or,  in  other  words, 
that  he  is  the  inherent  cause  of  all,  or  rather  the 
substance  of  all  which  has  being.  There  is  not,  and 
cannot  be,  then,  more  than  one  being,  which  is  God, 
and  the  universe  is  only  an  infinitely  varied  manifes- 
tation of  the  infinite  attributes  of  this  being.  Nothing, 
then,  which  includes  existence,  says  Spinoza,  can  be 


SYSTEM    OF     PANTHEISM.  153 

denied  of  God  ;  and  whatever  includes  it  appertains 
to  him  and  comes  from  him.  God  is  not  only,  then, 
the  cause  which  originates  all  existence  ;  he  is  also  the 
cause  which  sustains  it  in  being ;  in  other  words, 
he  is  at  once  cause  and  substance  of  all  that  is. 
Beside  God  —  if  any  thing  can  be  said  to  exist  beside 
him  —  are  only  his  attributes ;  and  beside  these  attri- 
butes, there  can  be  nothing  except  different  modes 
of  their  manifestation.  God,  therefore,  who  is  the 
only  substance,  the  infinite  attributes  of  this  sub- 
stance, and  the  modes  of  manifestation  of  these 
attributes,  are  the  only  possible  existences.  There 
is  and  can  be  nothing  more. 

Spinoza  next  inquires  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
this  necessary  being,  whose  essence  is  existence, 
develops  himself;  and  proves  that,  being  in  himself 
necessary,  he  can  only  act  through  and  by  the  neces- 
sary laws  of  his  nature,  and,  consequently,  that  he 
cannot  be  free  in  the  sense  in  which  we  understand 
that  word.  He  ridicules  the  idea  which  we  form  of 
God,  as  of  a  being  who  acts  for  a  certain  end,  and 
because  he  wills  to  accomplish  that  end,  but  who  could 
yet  prefer  another,  and,  consequently,  act  in  another 
way.  He  finds  this  idea  wholly  incompatible  with 
the  idea  he  has  formed  of  such  a  being,  which  he 
regards  as  the  only  legitimate  idea ;  and  he  affirms 
that  it  inevitably  follows,  from  the  necessary  nature  of 
such  a  being,  that  all  the  acts  and  ideas,  which  are 
successively  developed  in  him,  arise  necessarily ;  so 
that  nothing  which  originates  from  him  is  produced  by 
free  choice ;  and  the  word  will,  therefore,  in  its  com- 
mon acceptation,  cannot  be  attributed  to  him.  And 


154  JOUFFROY. 

yet  Spinoza  asserts  that,  in  another  sense  of  the  word 
liberty,  the  sense  in  which  he  always  employs  it, 
God  is  the  only  free  being.  In  truth,  he  says,  all 
thoughts,  acts,  and  possible  developments  of  God, 
emanate  from  his  own  peculiar  nature,  and  not  from 
the  influence  of  another  nature  acting  upon  him. 
God  is,  then,  free,  in  the  sense  that  whatever  he  does 
is  determined  solely  by  the  laws  of  his  own  nature 
and  essential  character.  The  nature  of  man  being 
limited,  as  we  constantly  see  it,  his  acts  are  deter- 
mined by  external  causes,  and  not  by  -himself ;  and 
those  causes  depend  on  others,  and  yet  others,  till 
they  are  traced  back  to  God,  while  the  acts  of  God 
are  determined  only  by  his  own  nature.  The  acts 
of  God,  therefore,  are  at  once  free  and  necessary, 
and  free,  for  the  very  reason  that  God  is  a  necessary 
being.  But,  as  you  readily  see,  there  is  no  similarity 
between  this  liberty  which  Spinoza  attributes  to 
God,  and  liberty  as  we  have  conceived  of  it. 

It  follows,  from  this  view,  that  in  God  there  can 
be  neither  moral  good  nor  evil.  For  moral  good 
and  evil  imply  a  choice  between  different  courses 
of  conduct;  and,  since  God  acts  through  the  necessary 
laws  of  his  nature,  he  cannot  but  do  what  he  actually 
does ;  cannot,  consequently,  act  with  a  view  to  a  cer- 
tain end,  therefore,  nor  with  a  purpose  to  accomplish 
it;  and  he  cannot,  therefore,  be  either  morally  good 
or  morally  bad ;  and,  in  attributing  to  him,  in  an 
infinite  degree,  the  moral  qualities  which  we  are 
conscious  of  ourselves,  we  indulge  fancies  wholly 
unworthy  of  the  dignity  of  God,  and  incompatible 
with  his  nature.  God  wills  not ;  acts  not  from  de- 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  155 

sign ;  has  no  desire,  passion,  nor  disposition.  God 
is;  and,  this  once  admitted,  all  that  originates  from 
him  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  being. 

If  God's  nature  is  developed  thus  necessarily,  and 
if  nothing  exists  which  does  not  spring  from  him, 
it  follows  that  nothing  which  is  accidental  can  exist 
or  occur.  In  other  words,  all  finite  existences  and 
their  acts,  are  made  and  caused  by  the  necessary 
laws  of  the  divine  nature,  —  God  producing  directly 
whatever  is  derived  immediately  from  his  nature 
and  infinite  attributes,  and  indirectly  the  finite  modes 
of  being  of  these  attributes.  We  call  that  contingent 
and  accidental,  says  Spinoza,  of  which  we  cannot 
comprehend  the  necessity ;  but  all  which  does  happen, 
must  happen,  and  happen,  too,  exactly  in  that  way. 
Hence,  from  the  same  principles,  it  appears  that  the 
world  .is  eternal,  and  that  the  idea  of  creation  is 
chimerical ;  for  that  which  at  any  time  did  not  exist, 
could  never  have  begun  to  exist,  and  there  can  be 
nothing  beside  the  being  who  is  one  and  infinite. 

Perhaps,  from  this  one  might  be  led  to  suppose 
that,  therefore,  the  universe  is  God,  and  that  God 
is  only  the  universe.  This  opinion  Spinoza  earnestly 
repels.  The  universe,  he  says,  is  not  God,  but  only 
the  necessary  modes  of  being  of  his  attributes.  God 
is  one,  simple,  infinite ;  his  modes  of  being  are 
diverse,  complex,  finite.  God  is  a  necessary  being 
in  a  twofold  manner ;  because  he  is  self-existent, 
and  because  he  cannot  be  conceived  of  as  not 
existing;  his  modes  of  being  are  necessary,  only 
because  they  are  derived  necessarily  from  his  laws ; 
but  in  one  sense  they  are  contingent,  that  is,  they 


156  JOUFFROY. 

can  be  conceived  of  either  as  being  or  not  being. 
God  is  equally  distinct  from  his  attributes ;  God  is 
infinite,  in  the  absolute  sense  of  that  word ;  his  attri- 
butes, although  infinite,  each  in  its  own  way,  are 
really  finite,  since  they  are  many,  and  one  limits 
the  other,  each  expressing,  under  one  face  only,  the 
essence  of  God,  which  is  existence.  The  modes  are 
to  the  attributes  what  the  attributes  are  to  God; 
and  as  these  attributes  are  only  manifestations  of  God, 
and  finite  in  relation  to  him,  so  the  different  modes 
of  each  attribute  express  only  that  attribute,  and 
are  finite,  not  only  in  relation  to  God,  but  also  in 
relation  to  that  attribute. 

It  follows,  from  the  relation  here  described,  between 
God  and  his  attributes,  that,  as  each  of  them  is  only 
a  manifestation  of  God's  nature,  which  is  in  itself 
one,  God  can  be  conceived  of  now  under  one  of 
these  attributes,  and  now  under  another,  but  still 
as  remaining  himself,  simple,  and  unchanged,  amidst 
the  diversity  of  attributes,  which  are  only  different 
manifestations  of  one  nature,  and  different  develop- 
ments of  one  cause.  If  this  is  so,  there  must  be  a 
perfect  harmony  and  correspondence  between  the 
series  of  the  successive  modes  of  one  of  these  attri- 
butes, and  the  series  of  the  successive  modes  of  all 
the  others.  This  Spinoza  affirms,  and  he  demonstrates 
it  in  the  case  of  the  two  attributes  of  God,  with  which 
alone  we  are  acquainted  —  thought  and  extension. 

The  modes  of  thought  are  ideas,  and  the  condition 
of  every  idea  in  God,  as  in  us,  must  be  something 
objective.  What  can  be  objective  to  the  thought 
of  God  ?  Only  his  own  being,  that  is  to  say,  his 


SYSTEM    OP    PANTHEISM.  157 

essence,  and  all  which  necessarily  arises  from  it.  The 
idea  of  God,  then,  is  one  and  infinite,  considered 
in  relation  to  the  essence  of  God,  which  is  one  and 
infinite ;  but  it  is  manifold  in  relation  to  the  different 
attributes  of  God.  Hence  the  modes  of  the  thought 
of  God,  or,  in  other  words,  the  series  of  his  ideas. 
As  the  series  of  the  ideas  of  God  represent  the 
successive  modes  of  his  different  attributes,  the  order 
and  connection  of  the  one  must  be  reciprocally  the 
same  as  that  of  the  other.  What  God  does  as  a 
being  having  extension,  he  thinks  as  a  being  pos- 
sessed of  intelligence ;  and  what  he  thinks  as  an 
intelligent  being,  he  does  as  a  being  having  exten- 
sion ;  the  series  of  his  acts  and  that  of  his  ideas 
being  determined  by  the  same  necessity,  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  the  idea  and  the  act  being  only  the 
same  phenomenon  under  a  twofold  aspect,  as  thought 
and  extension  are  one  being  under  two  different 
manifestations.  The  circle  is  a  mode  of  God  as 
he  is  possessed  of  extension ;  the  idea  of  a  circle 
is  the  corresponding  mode  of  God  as  thought ;  and 
to  these  two  modes  there  must  be  a  corresponding 
mode  in  every  other  possible  attribute  of  God. 
Whether  we  conceive,  therefore,  of  God's  nature 
under  the  attribute  of  extension  or  of  thought,  or 
of  any  other  attribute,  there  will  always  be  the 
same  series,  order,  connection,  and  necessary  devel- 
opment. 

But  the   thoughts  of  God  have  not  only  the  prop- 
erty of  representing  all  his  other  attributes  and  their 
modes ;    they   can   also   represent   themselves.      God, 
in  other  words,  thinks    not  only   of  his  essence,   and 
VOL.  i.  o 


158  JOUFFROY. 

of  all  which  issues  from  it,  but  also  of  his  own 
thoughts ;  and  this  must  be  so,  for  otherwise  his 
ideas  would  be  less  extensive  than  his  nature,  and 
he  would  be  ignorant  of  one  of  his  own  attributes  — 
intelligence.  The  divine  thought,  then,  is  conscious 
of  itself  and  of  its  modes,  in  the  same  way  that  it  has 
knowledge  of  all  the  other  attributes  and  modes  of 
God.  And  this  property  of  self-consciousness  which 
belongs  to  thought  it  preserves  universally.  It  is 
essential  to  its  nature. 

These  considerations,  as  to  the  nature  and  being 
of  God,  and  much  else  on  the  same  subject,  which 
I  omit,  are  exhibited  in  the  First  Book  of  the 
"Ethics,"  and,  in  the  first  part  of  the  Second  Book. 
I  will  now  proceed,  having  thus  given  you  an  idea 
of  his  reasoning  as  to  the  laws  and  necessary  nature 
of  God,  to  show  you  how  all  bodies  and  man  are 
viewed  in  Spinoza's  system. 

We  have  seen  the  manner  in  which  Spinoza,  ab- 
stracting the  idea  of  existence  from  those  of  extension 
and  of  thought,  proceeds  to  the  idea  that  God  is  a 
being  whose  essence  is  existence,  of  whom  thought 
and  extension  are  only  attributes.  By  the  same 
process  of  reasoning,  applied  to  what  we  call  body 
and  spirit,  he  shows  that  these  two  pretended  entities 
are  only  modes  of  thought  and  of  extension. 

Let  us  take,  he  says,  any  body ;  for  example,  some 
wax.  It  has  this,  in  common  with  all  other  bodies, 
that  it  is  extended ;  but,  evidently,  this  is  not  "its 
characteristic,  and,  consequently,  not  its  constituent 
element ;  for  then  it  would  follow  that  whatever 
is  extended  is  wax.  Extension,  then,  is  simply  the 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  159 

ground-work  of  body ;  and  that  which  constitutes 
each  particular  body,  is  a  certain  manner  of  extension, 
or  of  this  something  which  all  bodies  have  in  common. 
A  body  of  any  kind,  then,  is  not  extension,  but  a 
certain  mode  of  extension ;  and,  as  extension  is  an 
attribute  of  God,  it  follows  that  all  bodies  are  only 
different  modes  of  this  attribute  of  God. 

It  is  exactly  the  same  with  spirits.  The  common 
property  of  all  spirits  is  thought;  but  it  is  not  this 
which  distinguishes  and  constitutes  different  spirits. 
For,  if  any  supposed  spirit  was  thought,  and  thought 
only,  it  would  follow  that  all  thought  was  this  spirit, 
which  is  not  and  cannot  be  true.  All  spirits,  there- 
fore, are  only  different  modes  of  thought,  which  is 
an  attribute  of  God. 

It  is  easy  now,  these  positions  being  once  estab- 
lished, to  understand  the  idea  which  Spinoza  forms 
of  the  aggregate  of  bodies  and  of  spirits,  which 
makes  up  the  world  as  it  falls  under  our  observation 
The  basis  of  all  possible  bodies  is  extension,  an  attri- 
bute of  God ;  the  basis  of  all  spirits  is  thought,  also 
an  attribute  of  God.  A  body  or  spirit  is,  then, 
only  a  portion  and  definite  mode  of  the  twofold 
development  of  God,  as  a  being  of  intelligence  and 
a  being  of  extension.  A  body,  in  other  words,  is  a 
portion  of  the  divine  extension,  or  of  the  infinite 
series  of  movements  which  arise  out  of  it ;  and  a 
spirit  is  a  portion  of  the  divine  thought,  or  of  the 
infinite  series  of  ideas  developed  from  it.  Extension 
and  thought  are  two  parallel  streams,  of  which  each 
separate  body  and  spirit  are  the  waves ;  and  as,  in 
streams,  each  wave  is  determined  by  that  which  impels 


160  JOUFFROY. 

it  forward,  and  this  by  some  other,  and  thus  backward 
to  the  source,  so  the  series  of  movements  or  ideas 
constituting  each  body  and  spirit  is  determined  by 
anterior  movements  or  ideas,  —  anterior  while  them- 
selves depending  on  others  which  preceded  them, 
—  and  thus  upward  to  God,  who  is  the  sole  cause  of 
all  that  happens,  as  he  is  the  sole  substance  of  all 
that  is. 

Hence  is  it,  says  Spinoza,  that,  when  we  attempt 
to  discover  the  cause  of  any  material  change,  or 
of  any  idea,  we  find  it  always  in  some  antecedent 
change  or  idea,  and  this  in  the  degree  in  which  we 
are  enabled  to  advance,  until  we  reach  the  point 
where  the  succession  of  effects  and  causes  is  lost 
to  view. 

You  can  readily  see  the  notion  of  man  to  which 
such  a  doctrine  leads.  Man  is  composed  of  body 
and  of  spirit.  What  is  this  body?  what  is  this 
soul  ?  The  reply  is  easy.  That  which  I  call  myself, 
or  my  soul,  is  not  a  substance,  as  we  imagine  —  for 
there  is  but  one  substance  ;  and  if  my  soul,  therefore, 
is  a  substance,  then  all  substance  is  me.  And  neither 
is  it  thought  ;  or  else  all  thought  would  be  me.  It 
is  only,  then,  and  can  only  be,  the  succession  of  those 
ideas  which  we  are  accustomed  to  say  it  has,  but 
which  really  constitute  it.  My  soul,  at  any  one 
moment,  is  the  sum  of  the  ideas  which  are  then  in 
me.  If  the  wax  had  the  power  of  perceiving  itself, 
it  would  believe  itself  to  be  the  substance  sub- 
jected to  different  forms,  while  it  is  only  these  very 
forms. 

My  body,  in  the  same  way,  is  neither  a  substance 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  161 

nor  extension,  but  merely  a  succession  of  certain 
definite  modes  of  extension.  It  grows  from  smaller 
to  larger  dimensions,  from  youth  to  age,  and  undergoes 
perpetual  changes,  like  the  soul,  only  not  so  apparent- 
ly. It  is  but  the  stream  and  course  of  these  modifi- 
cations which  are  moving  on,  as  the  soul  is  but  a 
current  of  ideas. 

But  this  body  and  soul,  which  are  apparently  two, 
really  are  but  one ;  in  other  words,  what  we  call  the 
body  and  the  soul  are  but  two  aspects  of  one  and  the 
same  thing.  As,  in  God,  the  series  of  developments 
in  one  of  his  attributes  corresponds  perfectly  with  the 
series  of  developments  in  all  the  others,  so,  in  that  por- 
tion of  the  development  of  the  Deity  which  man  is,  the 
series  of  ideas  constituting  the  soul  corresponds  exactly 
to  the  series  of  motions  constituting  the  body.  Yet 
more ;  one  of  these  series  is  but  the  image  of  the 
other.  There  can  no  more  be  ideas  without  an 
object  in  us  than  in  God.  Now,  what  is  or  can  be 
the  proper  object  of  human  ideas,  if  not  the  human 
body  1  If  there  is,  then,  in  us  a  series  of  ideas 
constituting  our  spirits,  it  is  because  there  is  also 
in  us  a  series  of  transformations,  changes,  and  aflfeo 
lions,  constituting  the  body.  The  idea  which  is  in 
us  at  any  given  moment  is  nothing  more  than  the 
intellectual  form  of  the  material  movement  then 
taking  place.  Form  to  yourself  an  idea  of  God, 
as  developing  himself  through  the  two  attributes  of 
thought  and  of  extension,  and  arrest  by  thought  a 
definite  portion  of  this  infinite  development,  which 
may  endure  for  a  time,  and  you  have  a  man.  Now, 
as  all  the  attributes  of  God  are  but  different  mani- 

Q2 


162  JOUPFROY. 

festations  of  the  same  thing,  and  as  the  development 
of  one  is  only  the  development  of  the  other  in  another 
form,  it  follows  that  it  must  be  the  same  in  that 
portion  of  the  divine  development  which  constitutes 
us.  We  are,  then,  one  simple  thing  under  a  twofold 
aspect  —  the  intellectual  and  material;  and  that  which 
is  an  idea  under  one  aspect  is  always  a  movement 
under  the  other,  and  the  reverse. 

We  have  seen  that,  in  God,  the  attribute  of  thought 
represents  all  the  real  or  possible  modes  of  the  other 
attributes  of  God,  and  yet  more  the  modes  peculiar 
to  thought  itself;  for  it  is  the  very  nature  of  thought 
to  represent  its  own  modes,  as  well  as  all  other  modes. 
This  peculiar  nature  of  thought  is  preserved  in  us. 
As,  in  God,  thought  comprehends  itself,  so,  in  us, 
our  thought  is  self-conscious.  At  the  same  time, 
then,  that  the  series  of  ideas  constituting  our  minds 
represents  the  series  of  our  corporeal  emotions,  do 
these  ideas  also  represent  themselves ;  hence  our 
minds  have  knowledge  of  themselves,  in  addition  to 
a  knowledge  of  the  peculiar  object  to  which  they 
are  -directed  —  that  is,  the  body.  This  is  the  phe- 
nomenon of  self-consciousness,  by  which  we  become 
acquainted  with  ourselves,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
we  gain  knowledge  of  what  is  not  ourselves ;  and 
this  phenomenon  is  reproduced  necessarily  among  all 
beings  who  are  modes  of  the  divine  thought. 

What,  then,  gentlemen,  are  we,  according  to  Spi- 
noza? We  are  a  mode  of  the  divine  thought,  corre- 
sponding to  a  mode  of  the  divine  extension,  which 
determines  the  thought,  and  is  its  proper  object. 
The  mode  of  extension  is  our  bodies;  the  mode  of 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  163 

thought  is  our  minds ;  and  these  two  perfectly  corre- 
sponding modes  are  one  and  the  same  phenomenon, 
which  we  call  man. 

The  peculiar  characteristic  distinguishing  man  from 
bodies,  properly  so  called,  is,  that  these  latter  are 
modes  of  divine  extension  only.  The  modes  of  ex- 
tension do  not  necessarily  include  the  corresponding 
modes  of  divine  thought.  This  we  see  by  the  beings 
around  us,  which  are  simply  extended.  Man,  who 
unites  in  himself  these  two  modes,  has  twice  as  much 
real  being  as  bodies  simply  extended,  and  including 
bat  one  mode. 

Having  thus  explained  Spinoza's  idea  of  man, 
I  might  leave  my  consideration  of  his  metaphysical 
system  here,  and  enter  into  no  further  detail  of  his 
opinions  upon  the  body  and  soul.  But  there  are 
a  few  more  points,  which  I  feel  I  ought  not  to  leave 
untouched. 

Our  bodies,  according  to  Spinoza,  are  not  simple, 
but  are  composed  of  a  number  of  other  bodies,  which 
are  all  different  modes  of  extension.  When  several 
bodies  are  united  together,  so  as  to  experience  the 
same  impressions  and  emotions,  they  form  an  indi- 
vidual ;  and,  so  long  as  the  form  of  the  individual 
exists,  the  individual  exists,  however  much  the  parts 
of  which  he  is  composed  are  changed,  increased,  or 
lessened.  The  human  body  depends  upon  the  form 
it  assumes  rather  than  upon  the  elements  which 
compose  it.  And  it  is  through  this  form,  which 
is  but  a  result  of  the  union  of  several  bodies,  or 
complex  modes  of  extension,  that  it  is  distinguished 
from  other  compound  bodies. 


164  JOUFFROY. 

All  changes  occurring  in  our  bodies  may  be 
resolved,  according  to  Spinoza,  into  movements ;  and 
these  movements  are  determined  by  other  bodies 
impressing  it ;  and  these  again  are  put  in  motion  by 
yet  others;  and  so  on.  Spinoza  calls  these  move- 
ments affections ;  and  says  that  the  nature  and 
number  of  these  affections  depend  both  upon  the 
nature  of  the  body  experiencing  them,  and  upon 
that  of  the  bodies  producing  them ;  so  that  the 
nature  of  each  affection  indicates  the  nature  both 
of  the  subject  affected,  and  of  the  causes  which 
affect  it. 

As  our  ideas  have  no  other  object  than  the  affections 
of  our  bodies,  it  follows  that  the  more  susceptible 
the  body  is  of  affections,  the  more  susceptible  the 
mind  is  of  ideas ;  and,  therefore,  that  our  minds 
acquire  more  ideas,  in  proportion  as  our  bodies  are 
affected  by  a  greater  number  of  external  bodies. 
In  other  words,  the  ideas  which  constitute  the  human 
mind  are  more  complex  and  rich,  in  proportion  as  the 
affections  of  the  body  are  more  and  more  various. 

Every  simple  idea  is,  according  to  Spinoza,  an 
idea  of  some  corporeal  affection  ;  but  this  idea  includes 
several  other  ideas,  besides  this  one  of  the  affection : 
first,  an  idea  of  the  body  which  is  affected ;  secondly, 
an  idea  of  the  body  which  has  produced  the  affection ; 
thirdly,  an  idea  of  the  mind,  since  every  idea  is  self- 
conscious,  and  forms  one  element  of  the  mind,  which 
itself  is  only  the  succession  of  ideas. 

We  see  from  this  how  it  was  that  Spinoza  was 
led  to  say  that  we  have  no  immediate  knowledge 
except  through  bodily  affection,  and  that  it  was  from 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  165 

thfr  idea  of  our  bodily  affections  that  all  human 
knowledge  took  its  origin.  This  idea  is,  you  see, 
full  of  instruction,  as  it  leads  directly  to  the  ideas 
of  our  own  minds,  of  our  bodies,  and  of  other 
bodies.  I  beg  you  to  notice  that  this  is  exactly  the 
opinion  of  Condillac ;  and  we  need  only  substitute 
the  word  sensation  for  affection,  which  represents 
the  same  thing,  in  the  following  passage  from  the 
Ethica,  and  we  should  think  we  were  reading  from 
the  Traite  de  Sensations.  "  We  know  our  own 
bodies  only  through  its  affections,  we  know  external 
bodies  only  through  the  affections  of  our  own,  and 
we  know  our  spirits  only  through  the  idea  of  these 
affections."  This  resemblance  to  Condillac's  system, 
which  you  may  trace  in  the  opinion  of  Spinoza,  that 
the  soul  is  the  sum  of  the  ideas  which  are  brought 
together  at  any  one  moment,  will  continually  strike 
you  as  I  present  other  points  of  his  metaphysical 
system. 

If  the  whole  of  intellectual  effort  was  limited  to 
the  operation  now  described,  we  should,  according 
to  Spinoza,  have  only  confused  and  inadequate  ideas. 
The  knowledge  that  we  obtain  of  our  own  and  other 
bodies,  from  the  ideas  of  our  affections,  is  indirect, 
and,  as  such,  incomplete,  and  therefore  confused ; 
and,  for  the  same  reason,  the  knowledge  that  they 
give  us  of  the  affections,  which  they  represent,  is 
equally  imperfect  and  obscure.  For  an  adequate 
idea  of  these  affections  would  suppose  an  adequate 
knowledge  of  the  subject  affected,  and  of  the  causes 
producing  the  affections.  And,  finally,  since  the 


166  JOUFFROV. 

idea  of  the  affections  of  our  body  is  inadequate 
and  obscure,  the  idea  of  these  ideas,  which  is  the  idea 
of  our  own  minds,  must  be  also  obscure  and  inade- 
quate. So  that  if  human  knowledge  remains  always 
in  the  state  in  which  simple  perception,  to  use  the 
words  of  Spinoza,  gives  it  to  us,  we  should  have  only 
such  confused  ideas,  as  all  the  ideas  of  our  affections, 
of  our  minds,  of  our  bodies,  and  of  other  bodies, 
must  be. 

Fortunately,  according  to  Spinoza,  our  ideas  are 
not  limited  to  those  which  we  receive  when  we  are 
made  to  perceive  (ad  percipiendum)  by  the  current  of 
external  movements.  We  obtain  ideas  having  a  very 
different  character,  when  we  are  determined  from 
within  to  conceive  (ad  intelligenduni)  of  agreements 
and  differences,  by  a  simultaneous  contemplation  of 
several  ideas.  In  this  case  we  can  arrive  at  adequate 
and  clear  ideas. 

Spinoza  admits,  then,  that,  after  the  particular  and 
immediate  ideas  of  the  affections  of  our  body,  and 
all  others  implied  by  these,  have  been  introduced, 
they  are  submitted  to  a  process  by  which  we  are  ena- 
bled to  form  general  ideas,  which  are  adequate  and 
clear.  Thus  three  points  are  established  in  the  sys- 
tem of  Spinoza:  first,  that  all  our  knowledge  comes 
from  the  affections  of  our  bodies;  second,  that  all 
simple  ideas,  and  all  such  ideas  of  our  mind,  of  our 
own  body,  or  of  other  bodies,  as  naturally  rise  out 
of  these  simple  ideas,  are  essentially  inadequate  and 
obscure;  third,  and  last,  that  the  only  ideas  which 
can  be  clear  and  adequate  are  general  ideas,  such 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  167 

as  we  deduce  from  the  former  kind  of  ideas,  by  an 
inward  effort,  subsequent  to  perception,  and  distinct 
from  it. 

The  nature  of  this  process  of  mind  is  the  most 
obscure  part  of  Spinoza's  doctrine ;  and  I  think  I 
do  not  deceive  myself  in  asserting,  that  here  is  the 
source  of  the  whole  difficulty  which  is  felt  in  under- 
standing his  system.  All  other  portions  of  it  become 
intelligible,  if  we  give  them  attentive  and  patient 
study. 

It  has  been  a  question  whether  Spinoza  considers 
this  mental  process  as  a  necessary  and  spontaneous 
one,  or  whether  he  thinks  that  we  must  contribute 
our  own  efforts  to  aid  it,  thus  ascribing  to  man  some 
influence  and  power  in  the  formation  of  his  own 
ideas.  If  we  consider  only  the  principles  of  the 
system,  and  the  expressions  which  Spinoza  employs 
to  describe  this  process  of  the  mind,  obscure  as  they 
are,  we  shall  be  led  to  the  first  opinion.  Since  all 
our  ideas  are  determined  by  the  series  of  the  affec- 
tions of  our  body,  and  since  these  are  determined 
by  external  causes,  which  are  determined  by  God, 
it  is  evident  that  all  our  ideas  must  be  determined 
by  God.  But  there  is  a  still  greater  objection  to 
the  idea  that  they  are  determined  by  ourselves.  Our 
minds  are  only  the  sum  of  our  ideas;  before  we  can 
suppose  that  the  mind  has  any  influence  over  the 
formation  of  our  ideas,  we  must  suppose  it  distinct 
from  them ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  a  mind, 
which  is  but  an  aggregate  of  ideas,  can  aid  in  the 
formation  of  those  very  ideas  of  which  it  is  itself 
the  effect,  result,  and  product.  If  true,  then,  to  the 


168  JOUFFROY. 

principles  of  his  system,  Spinoza  could  not,  without 
a  strange  contradiction,  attribute  to  the  mind  any 
participation  in  the  process  to  which  the  simple  ideas 
of  perception  are  subjected ;  and,  as  I  said  before, 
in  his  description  of  this  process,  there  is  no  expres- 
sion which  would  authorize  us  to  say  that  he  had 
fallen  into  this  contradiction.  But  when  he  comes 
to  the  moral  part  of  his  system,  which  I  shall  describe 
in  my  next  lecture,  we  are  induced  to  adopt  an  oppo- 
site opinion;  for  in  this  portion  of  his  work,  Spinoza 
evidently  ascribes  to  man  a  certain  kind  of  influence 
over  the  formation  of  his  ideas.  He  there  says  that 
liberty  is  this  power  exerted  by  us  over  our  ideas  ; 
he  recommends  that  we  should  turn  away  our  minds 
from  certain  ideas,  and  fix  them  upon  others ;  and  he 
gives  an  essay  upon  the  proper  conduct  of  the  mind ; 
and  it  is  upon  this  idea  of-  their  power  to  direct  and 
form  certain  ideas,  that  Spinoza's  whole  system  of 
ethics  is  founded.  Had  Spinoza  been  a  less  exact 
reasoner,  we  should  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  he  had 
here,  like  many  other  philosophers,  been  inconsistent, 
and  had  contradicted  his  own  principles ;  but  we  must 
be  more  cautious  in  making  this  charge  upon  such 
a  writer  as  the  author  of  the  "  Ethics ; "  and  when 
we  reflect  upon  the  enormity  of  such  a  contradiction, 
we  can  hardly  escape  the  impression  that  this  vigorous 
mind  was  deceived  by  some  logical  illusion,  which 
it  would  be  very  desirable  to  discover.  If  there  was, 
to  his  mind,  such  an  illusion  any  where,  it  was, 
doubtless,  in  his  idea  of  the  intellectual  process  by 
which  general  ideas  are  produced.  And  it  is  for  this 
reason,  that  I  call  this  portion  of  his  system  the  most 


SYSTEM,  OF    PANTHEISM.  169 

obscure ;  for  it  is  here  only  that  we  meet  with  real 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  comprehending  it.  I  con- 
fess, gentlemen,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  surmount 
these  difficulties ;  the  illusion  by  which  Spinoza  was 
deceived,  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover.  The 
opinion  he  seems  to  have  formed,  and  which  I  will 
now  describe,  of  the  nature  of,  the  intellectual  opera- 
tion by  which  the  mind  is  raised  from  particular  and 
immediate  to  ultimate  and  general  ideas,  is  perfectly 
consistent  with  the  principles  of  his  system,  and 
leaves  wholly  unexplained  the  contradiction  into 
which,  as  I  shall  show  in  the  next  lecture,  he  has 
fallen. 

Human  knowledge  would  be  reduced  to  the  immedi- 
ate notions  of  perception  only,  if,  after  these  ideas  were 
obtained,  there  was  no  mode  of  preserving  or  recalling 
them.  But  this  can  be  done,  and  in  this  way :  The 
action  of  external  causes  upon  the  body  has  the  effect 
of  modifying  the  state, of  those  parts  of  the  body  upon 
which  they  act ;  and  the  impression  produced  by  them 
does  not  disappear  altogether  with  the  action  of  the 
causes ;  when  this  action  is  strong  or  frequent,  the 
impression  remains  after  the  action,  and  the  parts 
affected  finally  acquire  a  permanent  disposition  for 
receiving  these  impressions.  These  remaining  influ- 
ences on  the  affections  become  ideas  in  the  mind 
equally  with  the  affections  themselves. 

The  ideas  corresponding  to  these  surviving  impres- 
sions of  the  affections  Spinoza  calls  images  or  remem- 
brances —  ideas,  properly  so  called,  which  represent 
the  affections  themselves ;  and  they  constitute  what 
he  denominates  the  imagination  or  memory. 
VOL.  i.  p 


170  JOUFFROY. 

One  other  fact  in  our  nature  completes  the  expla- 
nation of  the  operation  of  memory,  and  that  is  the 
analogy  existing  among  the  corporeal  dispositions 
which  constitute  certain  affections.  By  reason  of  this 
analogy,  whenever  we  experience  one  kind  of  affec- 
tion, analogous  to  others  which  we  have  often  felt, 
and  which  have  thus  left  in  the  body  a  disposition 
to  reproduce  them,  the  former  affection  causes  the 
body  to  replace  itself  in  a  condition  to  receive  the 
latter,  so  that  these  last  are  renewed  mechanically ; 
and,  since  they  in  turn  may  awaken  other  analogous 
ones,  it  follows  that  one  single  affection  may  produce 
the  impression  of  a  thousand  different  ones ;  and 
hence  the  mind  experiences,  subsequent  to  the  recep- 
tion of  an  idea,  long  trains  of  images  and  remem- 
brances ;  and  this  constitutes  the  phenomena  of  the 
association  of  ideas,  of  imagination,  and  of  memory. 

Thus  our  minds,  at  any  one  moment,  are  made  up, 
not  only  of  the  ideas  of  the  affections  which  have  been 
impressed,  and  of  other  ideas  which  these  imply,  but 
also  of  a  greater  or  less  number  of  remembrances, 
that  is  to  say,  of  ideas  of  past  affections. 

But  these  ideas  are,  as  we  have  said,  self-conscious. 
And  consciousness,  while  comprehending  them,  com- 
prehends also  the  agreements  and  differences  between 
them,  and,  consequently,  between  whatever  objects 
they  represent.  Hence  a  new  class  of  ideas  —  ideas 
of  relation,  or  general  ideas —  ideas  which  are  ultimate 
and  wholly  distinct  from  the  immediate  ideas  acquired 
from  perception. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is  that  intellectual  effort  which 
T  before  alluded  to  :  perception  gives  us  the  materials, 


SYSTEM    OP    PANTHEISM.  171 

and  the  operation  consists  wholly  in  bringing  together 
these  materials,  by  the  influence  of  memory  and 
making  a  comparison. 

But  this  comparison  is  wholly  mechanical,  and 
Spinoza  has  taken  care  to  state  that  it  is  so.  There 
are  not  ideas  recalled  and  compared  on  the  one  side, 
and  a  mind  recalling  and  comparing  them  on  the 
other.  The  impressions  left  on  the  affections  are 
necessarily  awakened  in  the  body,  and  these  are 
necessarily  represented  by  ideas  in  the  mind,  and 
these  ideas  are  necessarily  compared  by  their  mere 
juxtaposition,  whence  result  ideas,  necessarily  formed, 
of  their  agreements  and  differences ;  and  this  is  all. 
There  is  nothing  here  in  any  way  resembling  the 
intervention  of  the  mind.  The  mind  continues  to 
be  the  sum  of  our  ideas,  and  this  sum  is  only  in- 
creased by  a  new  class  of  ideas.  This  is  all. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  these  general  ideas,  once 
formed,  are  subject  to  the  same  law  with  immediate 
ideas ;  that  is,  they  can  be  recalled  like  them,  and 
can  produce,  as  they  do,  when  brought  together, 
ideas  yet  more  general,  which,  in  turn,  may  give 
rise  to  others  yet  more  general,  and  so  on ;  let  it  be 
remarked,  however,  that  all  these  ideas,  however  gen- 
eral, have  one  characteristic,  which  is,  that  they  are 
not  immediate,  that  is,  not  simple  perceptions,  but 
derived,  or  conceptions,  as  Spinoza  calls  them. 

We  have  seen  that  Spinoza  considers  all  immediate 
ideas  as  essentially  inadequate  and  confused.  It  is 
not  necessarily  so,  according  to  him,  with  derived 
ideas,  whose  formation  we  have  now  explained ; 
these  may  be  clear  and  adequate,  and  for  this 
reason. 


172  JOUFFROY. 

What  is  the  truth  of  an  idea?  asks  Spinoza.  It  is 
the  conformity  of  the  idea  to  whatever  it  represents  ; 
but  since  the  condition  of  the  origin  of  an  idea  is 
the  existence  of  the  object  awakening  it,  there  can 
be  no  idea  without  something  of  which  it  is  the 
representation  ;  every  idea  has,  therefore,  some  truth ; 
the  only  difference  between  ideas  is  this,  that  some 
represent  completely  their  object,  while  others  do 
not;  the  former  are  adequate  ideas,  the  latter  are 
inadequate ;  ideas  then  are  false  only  from  their 
deficiency  in  not  representing  the  whole  of  their 
object ;  so  far  as  they  do  represent  it,  they  are 
true ;  their  truth  is  positive,  their  falseness  is  neg- 
ative. 

There  is  an  identity,  therefore,  between  an  adequate 
idea  and  a  complete  or  true  idea,  on  the  one  side, 
and  between  an  inadequate  and  false  idea,  on  the  other. 
But  how  can  we  tell  whether  an  idea  is  adequate  or 
inadequate  ?  By  what  sign  or  criterion  shall  we 
judge  ?  By  its  clearness,  says  Spinoza.  Whence, 
then,  comes  the  confusion  of  some  ideas  ?  Solely 
from  their  incompleteness,  that  is  to  say,  their  inade- 
quate representation  of  their  objects ;  for  if  they 
represented  the  whole  of  their  object,  they  could 
not  be  obscure.  Every  clear  idea  is,  therefore,  an 
adequate  one,  and  every  confused  idea  an  inadequate 
one.  It  is  by  their  clearness  or  their  confusion, 
then,  that  we  are  to  determine  whether  our  ideas 
are  true  or  false,  adequate  or  inadequate. 

If  our  immediate  ideas  cannot  be  adequate,  it  must 
be  as  Spinoza  has  proved,  because  they  correspond 
to  particular  objects,  all  the  circumstances  and  details 
of  which  we  cannot  fully  know  ;  and  it  is  in  conse- 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  173 

quence  of  their  inadequacy  that  they  are  all  essentially 
obscure  and  imperfectly  true.  On  the  contrary,  our 
derived  ideas  may  be  adequate,  and,  consequently, 
clear,  for  the  reason  that  they  represent  not  particular 
objects,  and,  therefore,  very  complicated  ones,  but 
general  ones,  much  less  complex  than  particulars, 
and  becoming  less  and  less  so  as  they  become  more 
general. 

Let  us  take,  for  example,  the  particular  facts  which 
we  call  the  affections  of  the  body.  We  cannot  per- 
fectly know  any  one  of  these  affections,  precisely 
because  it  is  a  particular  affection.  But  suppose 
several  inadequate  ideas  of  many  affections  brought 
together  by  memory  ;  the  agreement  of  these  different 
ideas  will  then  appear,  and  create  a  general  idea  of 
whatever  is  in  common  among  these  affections,  that 
is  to  say,  of  that  particular  characteristic  which  con- 
stitutes them  affections.  This  common  and  constitu- 
ent characteristic  is  infinitely  more  simple  than  either 
of  the  particular  phenomena  in  which  it  is  manifested ; 
and  we  can,  therefore,  for  this  reason,  form  a  much 
less  inadequate  idea  of  it,  and,  consequently,  a  much 
less  confused  and  false  one. 

Bring  now  this  general  idea  of  an  affection  into 
comparison  with  other  general  ideas  of  the  (same 
kind,  analogous  to  it,  and  there  will  evidently  arise 
an  idea,  the  object  of  which  will  be  still  simpler,  and 
which  will  have  still  greater  chance,  therefore,  of 
being  adequate,  clear,  and  true.  Whence  it  may  be 
seen  that  our  ideas  are  more  adequate,  true  and  clear, 
in  proportion  as  the  object  is  more  general,  and  as 
they,  consequently,  become  more  general  themselves. 


174  JOUFFROY.. 

Such,  gentlemen,  according  to  my  understanding 
Of  it,  is  the  logic  of  Spinoza.  It  is,  I  should 
say,  —  and  you  will  easily  see  that  it  is,  —  perfect- 
ly consistent  with  his  ontology.  For,  if  there  is 
but  one  substance  developing  itself  under  an  infinity 
of  attributes,  of  which  the  particular  objects  around 
us  are  only  infinitely  varied  modes,  that  which  is 
the  most  general,  that  is  to  say,  the  whole  itself, 
or  God,  is  also  the  most  simple  and  real,  and  that 
which  is  the  most  particular  and  complex,  that  is 
to  say,  bodies  and  minds,  must  also  be  most  complex 
and  phenomenal ;  so  that  what  is  most  simple  and 
real,  according  to  the  common  notion,  is  precisely 
what  is  least  real  and  most  complex,  according  to 
Spinoza ;  and  real  being  and  unity  increase,  in  his 
view,  in  the  same  proportion  as  abstraction  and 
multiplicity  do  in  ours.  The  world,  to  him,  is  only 
the  multiplied  developments  of  a  single  being,  while, 
to  us,  this  being  is  the  collection  of  a  multiplicity 
of  individual  beings.  Real  being,  to  our  minds, 
is  in  the  elements  of  the  whole,  while  the  whole 
itself  is  an  abstraction.  To  Spinoza,  real  being 
consists  in  this  whole,  which  is  itself  being,  while 
all  else  is  only  phenomenal,  and  more  and  more 
phenomenal  as  it  is  more  and  more  individual. 

I  have  now  said,  gentlemen,  all  that  I  proposed 
to  say  upon  the  metaphysical  portion  of  Spinoza's 
system.  In  my  next  lecture,  I  will  unfold  and  exhibit 
its  moral  part. 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  175 


LECTURE    VII. 


THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture,  I  finished  what  I  had 
proposed  to  say  of  the  metaphysical  and  logical 
system  of  Spinoza.  I  proceed  now  to  attempt  to 
give  you  some  general  idea  of  the  moral  part  of  his 
system.  The  long  developments  into  which  I  allowed 
myself  to  be  led,  at  our  last  meeting,  warn  me  to 
limit  myself  in  this  discussion,  unless  I  intend  giving 
an  undue  place  in  my  course  to  the  doctrine  of  this 
philosopher. 

You  will  remember  that,  in  the  view  of  Spinoza, 
the  human  soul  is  only  a  succession  of  ideas, 
and  that  these  are  only  the  representation  of  different 
changes  taking  place  in  the  human  body.  You  will 
remember  also,  that  we  are  not  thence  to  conclude 
that  man  is  composed  of  two  parts,  one  of  which 
we  call  the  body,  and  the  other  the  soul ;  for,  according 
to  Spinoza's  idea,  these  are  but  one.  Man  is  one 
being  under  a  twofold  aspect  —  the  aspect  of  mind, 
or  his  ideas  —  the  aspect  of  extension,  or  his  body;  — 
BO  that  all  which  happens  to  a  man  appears  neces- 
sarily under  the  two  forms  of  affections  and  ideas, 


176  JOUFFROY. 

which  express,  in  two  different  and  yet  corresponding 
ways,  one  and  the  same  phenomenal  development, 
which  is  man.  But  you  know  also,  that,  in  the 
system  of  Spinoza,  the  human  body  is  only  a  definite 
mode  of  extension,  which  is  an  attribute  of  God, 
and  the  human  mind  a  correspondent  mode  of  thought, 
which  is  another  attribute  of  God.  The  extension, 
constituting  our  body,  therefore,  and  the  idea  consti- 
tuting our  souls,  are  only  portions  of  the  development 
of  divine  thought  and  extension.  You  will  understand, 
therefore,  these  two  definitions  of  Spinoza,  that  the 
human  mind  is  God,  considered  as  constituting  the 
soul ;  and  the  human  body  is  God,  considered  as  con- 
stituting the  body.  God  is  at  once,  then,  finite,  in 
so  far  as  he  constitutes  our  body  or  soul ;  and  infinite, 
in  so  far  as  he  does  not  constitute  it.  Under  the  first 
view,  his  power  and  knowledge  are  limited ;  under  the 
second,  they  are  not.  All  the  mysterious  phrases 
of  the  Ethica  become  clear,  when  we  once  know 
that,  according  to  Spinoza,  the  ideas  which  consti- 
tute our  minds,  and  the  movements  which  constitute 
our  bodies,  (far  body,  be  it  remembered,  consists  in 
its  form,  and  not  in  its  material,)  are  only  fragments 
of  a  twofold  development  of  God  —  the  development 
of  his  thought  and  of  his  extension.  In  this  point 
of  view,  it  is  speaking  truly,  to  say,  that  God  consti- 
tutes our  bodies  and  our  minds,  and  that  his  power 
and  his  knowledge  are  finite,  in  so  far  as  he  does 
constitute  them.  We  have  not  all  ideas,  but  only 
some  ideas;  and,  because  we  have  only  these  few, 
most  of  our  ideas  are  inadequate  and  confused. 
God,  therefore,  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  us,  is 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  177 

limited  in  his  knowledge,  and  has,  consequently, 
inadequate  and  confused  ideas ;  but  in  himself  it  is 
not  thus ;  for  in  so  far  as  he  does  not  constitute  us, 
he  has  all  the  ideas  which  we  have,  and  all  other 
ideas  which  can  serve  to  render  these  clear  and 
adequate.  Again,  the  power  of  our  bodies  is  lim- 
ited by  the  resistance  of  other  bodies.  God,  in  so 
far  as  he  constitutes  our  bodies,  is  limited  in  his 
power ;  but  he  is  not  thus  limited  in  himself,  for 
all  the  causes  which  limit  our  power  are  modes 
of  the  divine  power,  even  as  our  power  is  itself.  So 
far,  then,  as  our-  body  is  finite,  God  is  limited  by 
himself;  consequently,  he  is  not  limited  in  his  own 
being,  but  only  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  our  body. 
It  follows  from  this,  that  ideas  which  are  inadequate 
in  us,  are  not  inadequate  in  God,  except  in  so  far 
as  he  is  considered  as  constituting  our  minds ;  and 
that  our  finite  power  is  not  finite  in  God,  except  in 
so  far  as  he  constitutes  our  body.  These  distinctions 
may  seem  frivolous  to  you,  but  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  they  should  be  made,  if  we  would  understand 
Spinoza's  system. 

As  our  minds  are  made  up  of  ideas,  it  is  plain  that 
the  more  ideas  we  have,  and  the  clearer  and  more 
adequate  they  are,  the  more  real  and  living  will  be 
our  minds.  This  proposition  is  proved  by  arithmet- 
ical calculation  in  the  system  of  Spinoza.  The  soul 
being  at  every  moment  the  sum  of  its  then  present 
ideas,  of  course  a  soul  made  up  of  twenty  ideas  will 
have  more  life,  more  perfection,  more  real  being,  than 
another  composed  of  six.  If  the  twenty  ideas  are 
clear,  adequate,  and  true,  the  mind  will  be  more  per- 


178  JOUFFROY. 

feet,  real,  and  living,  than  if  they  were  inadequate  and 
confused.  As  the  essence  of  the  soul  is  ideas,  it  is 
these  ideas  which  constitute  its  real  being ;  and  it 
will  be  more  and  more  perfect,  in  proportion  as  it 
has  more  ideas,  and  as  these  are  more  and  more  clear. 
Applying  this  same  principle  to  the  body,  that  is  to 
say,  to  the  mode  of  extension,  which  is  constantly 
impressed,  restrained,  and  limited  by  other  bodies 
acting  upon  it,  we  shall  find  that  the  body,  too,  has 
more  and  more  real  being  and  perfection,  in  propor- 
tion as  it  is  less  and  less  limited  by  external  bodies, 
that  is  to  say,  in  proportion  as  it  develops  itself 
with  the  greatest  fulness  and  freedom  through  its 
own  natural  energy. 

In  the  moral  part  of  his  system,  Spinoza  wholly 
leaves  out  of  view  the  body,  and  makes  the  soul, 
that  is  to  say,  man,  considered  under  the  aspect  of 
thought,  the  chief  object  of  his  attention.  The  three 
last  books  of  his  work  are  occupied  altogether  with 
his  opinions  upon  the  real  life,  perfection,  and  well- 
being  of  this  portion  of  human  nature. 

The  laws  of  its  growth  or  decline,  the  means  by 
which  the  real  life,  perfection,  and  well-being  of  the 
soul  are  increased  or  diminished,  engages  his  whole 
attention ;  and  it  is  here  that  we  must  follow  his 
course  of  reasoning  most  closely,  if  we  would  gain 
an  insight  into  the  fundamental  ideas  of  his  ethics, 
politics,  and  religion. 

Every  being  has,  necessarily,  a  tendency  and  de- 
sire ;  and  this  necessary  tendency  and  desire  is  to 
continue  in  the  condition  for  which  its  nature  fits  it. 

The  essence  of  God  is  existence,  and  his  necessary 


SYSTEM    OP    PANTHEISM.  179 

desire,  therefore,  is  to  remain  in  existence.  And, 
since  God  includes  all  existence,  and  his  existence, 
therefore,  is  not  and  cannot  be  limited  by  any  exist- 
ence beyond  and  out  of  himself,  it  follows,  that  God 
is  absolutely  perfect,  and,  consequently,  is  completely 
happy.  But  it  is  not  thus  with  the  human  soul. 

As  an  emanation  from  God,  the  human  soul  par- 
ticipates in  the  fundamental  desire  of  God,  and  also 
aspires  to  a  continuance  of  existence,  as  a  created 
being.  And,  as  the  constituent  element  of  the  soul 
is  knowledge,  and  this  knowledge  is  limited,  it  fol- 
lows that  this  fundamental  desire  of  continuance  in 
its  own  state  of  existence,  which  every  being  feels, 
must  in  the  soul  become  a  desire  to  remain  intelligent, 
and,  since  its  knowledge  is  limited,  to  extend  and 
enlarge  it.  Such  is  and  must  be,  necessarily,  the 
fundamental  and  peculiar  tendency  of  the  human 
mind.  And  it  is  for  this  reason  that  Spinoza  con- 
fines exclusively  to  this  tendency  the  name  of  desire  ; 
it  is  the  only  desire  which  he  acknowledges  and 
recognizes. 

But  the  ideas  constituting  the  human  soul  are  lim- 
ited by  external  causes,  which  determine  their  num- 
ber, and  render  them  inadequate  and  confused ;  in 
other  words,  the  fundamental  desire  of  our  nature  meets 
abroad  with  influences,  both  favorable  and  unfavorable, 
whose  whole  operation,  however,  is  to  limit  and  fix 
bounds  to  our  knowledge.  These  influences,  coming 
into  contact  with  our  fundamental  desire,  give  us  joy 
or  pain,  and  awaken  love  and  hope,  hate  and  aver- 
sion. Hence  the  secondary  emotions  of  the  primitive 


180  JOUFFROY. 

and  fundamental  desire  existing  from  the  first  within 
us,  which  Spinoza  denominates  the  passions.  The 
reason  for  the  use  of  these  two  different  names  is 
this  profound  observation,  that  the  secondary  emo- 
tions proceed  from  the  action  of  external  causes,  and, 
consequently,  that  we  are  passive  in  experiencing 
these  emotions,  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  tendency 
to  preserve,  unchanged,  our  original  nature,  is  innate, 
arises  from  the  very  depths  of  our  being,  and  develops 
itself  even  when  no  external  cause  affects  us.  Here 
is  a  difference  well  expressed  by  the  terms  desire  and 
passion,  as  applied  by  Spinoza  to  these  two  kinds 
of  emotions. 

Spinoza,  however,  while  distinguishing  passion 
from  desire,  points  out  the  tie  which  unites  these 
two  orders  of  facts ;  it  is  indeed  plain  that  if  the 
desire  of  continuance  in  being  did  not  exist,  ex- 
ternal causes  could  not  excite  the  emotions  of  joy 
or  sorrow,  love  or  hate,  hope  or  fear,  now  constituting 
our  passions.  All  the  passions  which  are  awakened 
within  us  presuppose,  therefore,  the  fundamental  de- 
sire already  existing  and  active.  Moreover,  it  is 
plain  that  these  passions  are  only  different  expressions 
of  this  desire;  all  the  passions  are,  in  truth,  composed 
of  the  same  elements,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  sorrow  or 
dislike,  of  a  joy  or  love,  of  a  hope  or  fear ;  they  are 
distinguished  from  each  other  only  by  the  causes 
which  excite  them.  Now,  all  these  emotions  of  aver- 
sion or  love,  of  fear  or  hope,  of  joy  or  sorrow,  denote 
equally  a  desire  to  remain  in  being,  and  in  intelli- 
gence. All  the  tendencies  of  our  soul  are  reduced, 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  181 

therefore,  to  this  single  one,  and  have  all  of  them 
but  one  single  object,  which  is  the  preservation  and 
increase  of  our  being  or  our  knowledge. 

As  knowledge  is  the  constituent  element  of  our 
soul,  the  desire  of  knowledge  is  the  desire  of  enlarging 
our  actual  being,  and  of  lessening  our  imperfections. 
Nothing,  then,  can  be  more  proper,  more  conformable 
to  reason,  than  the  end  to  which  our  desire  and 
passions  tend.  This  end  is  the  greatest  degree  of 
real  existence,  the  highest  perfection  of  our  being. 
All  that  we  can  do,  therefore,  to  attain  this  end,  is 
lawful  and  right,  and  the  pursuit  of  it  is  virtue. 
There  is  entire  harmony,  then,  between  virtue  and 
happiness,  since  both  consist  in  the  greatest  possible 
satisfaction  of  our  fundamental  desire,  and  of  all  the 
passions  which  are  excited  by  it,  and  which  express 
it.  Thus  Spinoza  arrives  at  the  conclusion,  which 
he  lays  down  as  a  principle,  that  the  satisfaction  of 
passion  is  the  end  of  virtue,  and  that  we  are  virtuous 
in  proportion  as  we  extend  this  satisfaction,  that  is 
to  say,  as  we  are  happy. 

Thus  knowledge,  existence,  real  being,  perfection, 
virtue,  happiness,  are  all  but  one  and  the  same  thing, 
under  different  aspects.  As  the  soul  is  composed 
of  ideas,  and  as  the  legitimate  end  of  every  being 
is  self-preservation,  the  proper  end  of  the  soul  is  the 
most  complete  and  extensive  knowledge  possible.  To 
this  end,  approved  by  reason,  all  the  passions  of  the 
soul  aspire ;  to  strive  to  attain  it  is  virtue ;  to  succeed 
in  acquiring  it  is  happiness,  that  is  to  say,  the  per- 
fection or  real  life  of  the  soul.  Such  are  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  Spinoza's  ethical  system. 

VOL.  I.  Q 


182  JOUFFROY. 

It  remains  now  for  us  to  examine  what  means  we 
have  at  our  disposal,  according  to  Spinoza,  for  the  at- 
tainment of  this  end,  which  includes  at  once  our  real 
life,  our  perfection,  and  our  happiness;  and  it  is  here 
that  the  difficulties,  alluded  to  in  my  former  lecture, 
appear  —  difficulties  which  show  the  contradictions 
with  which,  as  it  appears  to  me,  this  system  must  be 
charged. 

Spinoza  has,  in  the  first  place,  said,  that  all  the 
ideas  which  can  arise  in  our  minds  are  only  deter- 
minate portions  of  the  ideas  of  God,  and  that  they 
all,  whether  immediate  or  derived,  are  produced  by 
necessity ;  and  yet  he  affirms  that  we  can  influence 
their  development.  In  the  second  place,  he  lays 
down  the  position,  that  our  ideas  are  the  very  com- 
ponent element  of  our  minds,  and  yet  asserts  that 
the  mind  exercises  a  control  over  the  formation  of  the 
ideas  of  which  it  is  composed.  Here  is  the  radical 
contradiction  lurking  throughout  his  whole  system. 
All  who  have  attempted  to  describe  his  doctrines 
have  perceived  it ;  no  one  has  succeeded  in  explaining 
it,  and  I  have  not  been  more  fortunate;  I  limit  myself, 
therefore,  to  a  simple  statement  of  the  contradiction, 
and  pass  to  the  mode  of  moral  progress  which  Spinoza 
marks  out  for  the  soul  to  pursue,  in  attaining  its 
final  end  and  destiny. 

If  the  perfection  of  the  soul  consists  in  the  extent 
and  truth  of  its  constituent  ideas,  the  object  of  moral 
effort  evidently  must  be  to  diminish,  as  much  as 
possible,  our  inadequate  and  obscure  ideas,  and  to 
multiply,  as  much  as  possible,  our  clear  and  adequate 
ideas;  and  the  mode  of  accomplishing  this,  according 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  183 

to  Spinoza,  is  to  withdraw  our  minds  from  one  mode 
of  acquiring  knowledge,  and  to  direct  them  towards 
another.  Now,  what  is  the  most  desirable  kind 
of  knowledge  1  And  why  is  it  most  desirable  1  I  will 
endeavor  to  answer  these  questions,  by  recalling  to 
your  minds  some  of  the  principles  of  Spinoza's  logical 
system,  already  exhibited  in  the  former  lecture.  They 
are,  at  once,  so  important,  and  yet  so  obscure,  that 
perhaps  it  may  be  well  for  me  to  review  rapidly 
what  I  then  stated  upon  the  subject. 

The  primitive  ideas  of  our  minds,  you  will  re- 
member, are  nothing,  according  to  Spinoza,  but  the 
images  of  the  affections  of  our  bodies;  and  these 
affections  themselves  originate  in  the  action  of  ex- 
ternal causes  upon  us.  These  ideas  are  essentially 
inadequate,  and  yet  they  comprehend  in  themselves 
all  the  ideas  which  we  can  have  immediately.  They 
are  inadequate,  in  the  first  place,  because  it  is  neces- 
sary, before  we  can  have  an  adequate  idea  of  an 
affection  of  our  body,  that  we  should  understand 
the  nature  of  that  body,  and  of  the  causes  which 
affect  it.  But  we  gain  a  knowledge  of  external 
causes,  and  of  the  body  itself,  only  through  these 
very  affections ;  we  have,  therefore,  only  indirect  and 
essentially  incomplete  ideas  of  the  body,  and  of  out- 
ward objects ;  and  yet  more,  if  this  is  so,  the 
idea  we  have  of  the  affection  itself  is  confused  and 
inadequate ;  our  ideas,  then,  of  our  bodily  affections, 
and  of  our  own  and  other  bodies,  are,  by  ne- 
cessity, confused  and  incomplete ;  and,  finally,  our 
consciousness  of  these  ideas  must  be  so  too ;  —  so 
that  all  the  ideas  which  we  receive  immediately  are 


184  JOUFFROY. 

inadequate.  It  is  from  this  very  fact  of  the  inade- 
quacy of  our  ideas,  that  our  passions  arise ;  for,  if  all 
our  ideas  were  clear  and  complete,  our  desire  of 
knowledge  would  be  entirely  satisfied ;  and,  conse- 
quently, we  should  not  experience  the  joy  or  sorrow, 
the  love  or  hate,  the  hopes  or  fears,  which  constitute 
all  passion,  and  originate  in  the  imperfectness  of  our 
ideas.  And  whence  springs  all  evil  within  us  ?  From 
this  same  imperfection,  and  from  the  passions  caused 
by  it,  which  disturb  our  peace  and  prevent  our  happi- 
ness. Inadequate  ideas  are,  therefore,  at  once  the 
source  of  all  passion,  and  of  all  pain  ;  and  all  the 
simple  ideas  of  perception  are  of  this  nature. 

And  now,  what  shall  we  do  to  acquire  clear  and 
adequate  ideas  ?  If  we  had  no  other  mode  of  gaining 
knowledge,  and  of  obtaining  ideas,  than  the  perception 
of  our  corporeal  affections,  we  should  be  indeed 
perplexed,  and  all  virtue,  all  perfection,  would  be 
evidently  impossible.  But,  independently  of  these 
ideas,  received  from  the  aifections  of  the  body,  we 
can,  as  I  have  already  said,  attain  to  a  higher  order 
of  ideas,  drawn  from  these  simple  ideas  by  a  subse- 
quent effort  of  the  mind.  The  impressions  of  corpo- 
real affections  do  not  disappear  when  the  external 
cause  which  produced  them  ceases  to  act.  The  parts 
of  the  body  which  are  affected  contract  a  disposition 
to  reproduce  the  emotion  which  characterizes  these 
affections ;  and  they  do  reproduce  them,  whenever 
any  analogous  affection  is  excited  ;  —  so  that  an 
affection  of  the  body  is  accompanied  by  the  repro- 
duction of  a  number  of  kindred  affections,  associated 
by  analogy ;  and  an  idea  in  the  mind  is  accompanied 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  185 

by  a  series  of  images  and  remembrances  correspond- 
ing to  the  affections  thus  awakened  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  by  the  simultaneous  presence  in  our  minds 
of  a  crowd  of  different  ideas ;  some,  ideas,  properly 
so  called,  and  others,  images  and  recollections. 

From  this  concurrence  of  our  ideas  arises  the  fact 
of  a  comparison  passed  between  them;  and,  from 
this  comparison  springs  a  wholly  new  class  of  ideas, 
not  representing,  as  before,  a  particular  affection  or 
external  object,  not  our  body  or  spirit  at  any  given 
moment,  but,  instead,  the  common  element  of  many 
affections  and  external  objects,  of  many  states  of  our 
bodies  and  minds. 

Observe  now,  that  the  element  which  our  affec- 
tions have  in  common,  is  the  essence  itself  of  affec- 
tion ;  that  the  common  element  of  different  external 
bodies,  and  of  different  states  of  our  own  body,  is  the 
very  essence  of  body ;  and  that  the  common  element 
of  different  states  of  mind,  is  the  essence  of  our  mind, 
and  of  all  mind. 

It  is  not  true  in  relation  to  these  essential  elements 
of  all  affections,  and-  bodies,  and  spirits,  as  it  is  of 
particular  affections  or  bodies,  of  particular  states 
of  our  own  bodies  or  spirits,  that  we  can  have  only 
inadequate  and  obscure  ideas,  on  account  of  their 
complexity.  The  characteristics  of  the  essence  of  any 
thing  are  few,  and  are  constantly  reappearing  in 
every  particular  idea  of  it  which  may  occur  to  us, 
however  inadequate  this  may  be,  and  are  easily  dis- 
tinguished by  a  comparison  of  many  particular  ideas; 
so  that  it  is  easy  to  have  an  adequate  idea  of  these 
characteristics,  and,  consequently,  of  the  essence 

Q2 


186  JOUFFROY. 

of  which  they  are  the  component  parts.  This  class 
of  ideas,  representing  the  essences  of  things,  and 
arising  from  a  comparison  of  particular  and  immediate 
ideas,  or,  in  other  words,  these  general  ideas,  may  easily, 
therefore,  become  adequate  and  clear.  And  it  is  for 
this  reason  that,  while  we  can  never  form  an  adequate 
idea  of  any  particular  affection,  or  external  body,  or 
given  state  of  our  minds  and  bodies,  we  yet  can  have 
perfectly  adequate  ideas  of  affection  in  general,  of  the 
constituent  element  of  body,  which  is  extension,  or 
of  that  of  mind,  which  is  thought.  If  this,  now,  is 
true  of  general  ideas,  arising  from  the  comparison 
of  particular  ideas,  it  is  much  truer  of-  the  more 
general  ideas  which  arise  from  the  comparison  of  less 
general  ones  ;  so  that  the  property  of  adequateness, 
clearness,  and  truth,  constantly  increases  in  proportion 
to  the.  general  nature  of  our  ideas,  and  becomes 
absolute  and  complete  when  the  ideas  are  universal. 

By  applying  this  law  to  the  progress  of  mind, 
we  shall  obtain  the  following  method  of  logic  and 
of  ethics. 

If  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  wholly  occupied  by  the 
particular  ideas,  which  the  moving  current  of  things 
suggests,  our  knowledge  will  be  always  inadequate  and 
confused,  and  we  shall  remain  at  the  lowest  stage  of 
real  being  and  of  possible  perfection  :  yet  more,  since 
these  ideas,  in  proportion  to  their  inadequacy  and 
obscurity,  excite  in  higher  and  higher  degrees  all 
the  passions  which  agitate  us,  we  shall  be  utterly 
wretched. 

To  elevate  ourselves  above  this  state  of  extreme 
imperfection  and  misery,  we  must  turn  our  thoughts 


SYSTEM    OF     PANTHEISM.  187 

to  those  general  ideas,  which  spring  from  a  comparison 
of  particular  ideas,  and,  representing  the  essences  of 
things,  may,  with  more  probability,  be  adequate  and 
clear ;  and  this  course  we  must  pursue  to  the  utmost 
possible  extent.  Our  first  step  will  be  to  attain  to 
general  ideas  of  the  attributes  of  God,  and  next  to  the 
universal  idea  of  God  himself,  which  is  the  ultimate 
limit  of  human  knowledge ;  for  this  idea  embraces 
at  once  all  that  is  most  simple  and  most  complete  — 
the  eternal,  necessary,  and  immutable  substance  of  all 
existence. 

This  view  naturally  leads  Spinoza  to  distinguish 
three  degrees  of  human  knowledge.  The  first  degree 
of  knowledge  comprehends  the  particular  and  imme- 
diate ideas,  which  arise  from  the  perception  of  bodily 
affections.  The  multitude  of  men  seldom  rise  above 
this,  and  hence  the  confused  notions,  the  passions 
and  the  misery  of  the  mass  of  mankind.  The  second 
degree  of  knowledge  comprehends  the  general  ideas 
which  result  from  experience,  and  which,  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  more  or  less  clearly  conceived,  rep- 
resent, more  or  less  adequately,  the  infinite,  eternal, 
and  immutable  attributes  of  God.  In  its  third  degree, 
knowledge  concentrates  itself  into  one  idea,  which 
presupposes  all  general  ideas  —  the  absolute  and  uni 
versal  idea  of  God.  Sages  alone,  who  devote  their 
lives  to  meditation,  can  attain  to  this  height  of 
knowledge  and  of  peace.  Here,  and  here  only,  is 
peace.  For  since  God  is  the  first  principle  and  cause 
of  all  things,  the  idea  of  God  is  not  only  more  simple 
than  all  other  ideas,  but  a  light  to  make  them  clear 
and  perfect,  so  that  they  can  become  fully  adequate 


188  JOUFFIIOY. 

only  through  this  idea.  He  who  has  not  compre- 
hended God,  in  other  words,  can  comprehend  nothing 
perfectly ;  each  particular  is  included  in  the  general, 
and  the  general  in  the  universal ;  and,  therefore,  the 
conception  of  God  is  implied  in  all  other  conceptions, 
and  every  conception  remains  incomplete  and  obscure, 
until  the  idea  of  God  is  conceived.  We  can  attain 
perfectly  adequate  and  clear  knowledge  only  in  the 
idea  of  God;  here  the  mind  finds  the  highest  reality, 
the  fullest  existence,  sovereign  perfection,  entire  re- 
pose, and  complete  felicity  ;  with  this  it  can  destroy 
passion,  and  wholly  satisfy  our  fundamental  desire  of 
knowledge ;  so  that  absolute  perfection  and  happi- 
ness would  be  possible  for  man  in  this  life,  if  he 
could  here  attain  to  a  complete  idea  of  God.  But 
to  this  his  power  is  not  equal.  We  may  form  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  essence  of  God  ;  but  the  infinity 
of  the  attributes  through  which  this  essence  is 
developed,  and  the  infinity  of  the  modes  of  these 
attributes,  escape  us ;  of  these  attributes,  two  only 
are  accessible  to  us,  and  we  know  only  a  small  part 
of  the  modes  even  of  these  two  attributes.  Thus, 
while  the  complete  idea  of  God  would  be  universal 
science,  since  God  contains  all  that  is  or  can  be, 
yet  for  God  alone  is  this  science  possible,  because  he 
alone  can  know  himself  completely. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is  the  path,  marked  out  by 
Spinoza,  for  man  to  reach  his  highest  possible  per- 
fection and  happiness.  You  will  see  that  he  has 
thus,  at  the  same  time,  shown  what  course  the  soul 
should  pursue  to  arrive  at  the  most  complete  knowl- 
edge, and  what  it  should  itself  become ;  for,  since, 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  189 

in  Spinoza's  doctrine,  the  soul  is  made  up  of  ideas, 
science  and  the  perfection  of  the  soul  are  one  and 
the  same.  Logic  and  ethics  are  identified,  therefore, 
in  this  system,  and  the  method  which  leads  to  good, 
is  precisely  that  which  leads  to  truth. 

It  remains  for  me  to  show  you  how  this  same 
path  leads  to  immortality.  Here,  perhaps,  is  the 
most  singular  and  original  point  of  view  of  this  vast 
system ;  and  it  is  the  last  that  I  shall  mention. 

I  have  already  told  you,  that  the  condition  or  the 
origin  of  every  idea  is  the  existence  of  an  ob- 
ject :  as  an  idea  is  only  a  representation,  there  can 
be  no  idea  without  an  object  represented.  It  follows, 
as  a  strict  consequence  from  this  principle,  that,  so 
long  as  our  ideas  represent  only  the  affections  of  the 
body,  and  imply  these  affections,  or,  in  other  words, 
our  own  body  and  external  bodies,  our  ideas  exist 
only  through  the  existence  of  these  affections,  which 
themselves  presuppose  the  body.  If,  then,  our  body 
ever  ceases  to  be,  since  its  affections  will  also  be 
destroyed  at  the  same  time,  all  our  ideas  will  be 
destroyed  ;  and,  as  the  soul  is  only  the  collection 
of  our  ideas,  the  soul  will  be,  together  with  them, 
utterly  annihilated.  It  follows  from  this,  that  in  men 
who  have  only  ideas  of  particulars,  or  those  of  per- 
ception, the  death  of  the  soul  will  result  from  that 
of  the  body,  and  be  its  necessary  consequence ;  for 
them  immortality  is  impossible. 

But  suppose  that,  by  intellectual  effort,  we  disen- 
gage from  our  ideas  of  particulars  the  general  ideas 
which  they  imply,  and  thus  obtain  clear  views  of  that 
which  is  at  the  foundation  of  all  objects  and  of  all 


190  JOUFFROV. 

particular  phenomena;  that  is  to  say,  clear  views  of 
the  essence  of  things,  or  of  those  attributes  of  God 
which  we  are  capable  of  conceiving,  then,  although 
our  body  is  destroyed,  objects  will  yet  remain  for 
human  thought,  and  ideas  will  still  be  possible.  The 
ideas  composing  our  soul  will  not  all  vanish  with  the 
body,  according  to  this  hypothesis ;  that  part  only 
of  the  soul  will  disappear  which  represents  partic- 
ulars ;  the  rest  will  remain  and  survive. 

But  let  us  go  yet  further,  and  suppose  that,  from 
the  idea  of  God's  attributes,  we  have  ascended  to  the 
idea  of  God  himself;  here  is  an  eternal,  infinite, 
immutable  object  for  human  thought,  remaining  for- 
ever as  the  material  of  ideas,  and  of  adequate  and 
numerous  ideas ;  for  from  the  depth  of  the  idea  of 
God  spring  up  a  host  of  other  ideas  contained  in 
it,  which  are  multiplied  in  proportion  as  they  are 
contemplated  for  a  greater  length  of  time.  Hence 
a  multitude  of  ideas  remain  possible,  even  after  the 
death  of  the  body,  and  an  amount  of  existence  for 
the  soul,  which  cannot  be  destroyed  or  undergo  a 
change. 

But  upon  what  does  it  depend  whether  this  shall 
be  our  condition  in  the  hour  of  death?  It  depends 
upon  ourselves,  gentlemen,  because  we  can,  if  we 
choose,  turn  our  thoughts  away  from  particulars, 
and  raise  them  to  generals,  and  fix  them  there.  Our 
immortality  depends,  then,  upon  ourselves,  and  is  the 
fruit  of  virtue,  as  perfection  and  happiness  are.  It 
is  for  us  to  create  for  ourselves,  during  life,  an  object 
of  thought,  separate  from  our  bodies,  and  from  all 
bodies  which  surround  us,  —  an  object  which  may 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  191 

remain  when  our  bodies  shall  disappear,  and  with 
them  all  possibility  of  affections,  and  with  these  affec- 
tions all  possibility  of  perceiving  external  bodies ;  and 
we  shall  attain  this  end,  and  reach  this  object,  if  we 
turn  away  our  thoughts  from  transient  things,  and 
raise  them  to  those  which,  having  eternal  existence, 
will  abide  forever ;  and,  by  this  everlasting  endurance, 
will  preserve  also  in  existence  a  portion  of  our  souls, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  ideas  of  which  they  are  com- 
posed. 

Such  is  the  singular  opinion  of  Spinoza,  relative 
to  the  immortality  of  the  soul ;  and  you  see  how 
far  it  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  doctrine, 
when  the  possibility  of  our  giving  direction  to  the 
mind  is  once  admitted.  It  follows  from  this,  that 
human  souls  have  real  being  in  very  unequal  degrees, 
and  that  this  varies  with  the  nature  as  well  as 
number  of  their  component  ideas.  Souls  made  up 
entirely  of  immediate  ideas  have  only  a  feeble  reality, 
and  will  perish  with  the  body.  The  sum  of  the 
constituent  ideas  of  other  souls  may,  at  each  mo- 
ment, be  divided  into  two  parts ;  the  one,  perisha- 
ble, composed  of  ideas,  representing  individual  "and 
particular  objects,  and  wholly  inadequate  and  con- 
fused ;  the  other,  immortal,  composed  of  adequate 
and  clear  ideas,  representing  unchangeable  objects, 
that  is  to  say,  the  attributes  of  God  and  God  himself. 
At  any  given  moment,  our  real  being,  our  perfection, 
our  happiness,  are  in  direct  proportion  to  the  number 
of  these  last  ideas,  and  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  num- 
ber of  the  former.  Our  perfection,  happiness,  and 


192  JOUFFROY. 

real  life,  therefore,  increase  with  the  sum  of  our  ade- 
quate ideas ;  and,  since  this  increase  depends  upon 
our  virtue,  our  measure  of  existence  during  life, 
and  our  immortality,  depend  upon  it  also.  In  pur- 
suing our  true  end,  therefore,  we  increase,  not  only 
our  happiness  and  perfection,  but  also  the  sum  and 
duration  of  our  existence. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  principal  points  of  Spinoza's 
moral  system.  I  feel  that  I  ought  once  again  to 
say,  that  I  am  unable  to  reconcile  this  portion 
of  his  opinions  with  those  principles  which  he  has 
professed  in  relation  to  God  and  man,  and  which 
I  have  described  in  a  former  lecture.  Still  it  is 
undeniable  that  these  two  portions  of  his  system  do 
coexist,  and,  therefore,  it  was  my  duty  to  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  second,  as  well  as  of  the  first,  if  I 
would  not  leave  incomplete  this  rapid  exposition. 
It  was  necessary,  also,  to  prepare  you  for  an  under- 
standing of  the  ethics  of  .Spinoza,  which  I  shall 
exhibit  to  you  hereafter,  and  to  explain  the  existence 
of  any  such  thing  as  .ethics  in  the  most  vast,  most 
absolute,  and,  notwithstanding  this  contradiction,  the 
most  rigorous  system  of  pantheism,  which  the  hand 
of  philosophy  has  ever  reared. 

I  have  now  completed  my  sketch  of  the  particular 
form  which  Spinoza  has  given  to  pantheism ;  but 
I  should  neglect  the  original  and  principal  design 
of  this  exposition,  if  I  did  not,  before  passing  on 
to  other  systems,  disengage,  from  this  particular  form, 
the  specific  character  of  pantheism  itself,  and  show 
you  how,  by  reason  of  its  essential  quality,  it  always 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  193 

leads,  by  a  strict  necessity,  to  the  denial  of  human 
liberty,  and  consequently  to  the  belief  that  a  law  of 
obligation  is  impossible. 

One  essential  and  constituent  element  of  pantheism 
is  the  suppressing  of  all  particular  causes,  and  the 
concentrating  of  all  causality  in  a  single  being ; 
that  is,  in  God.  This  arises  from  another  element 
of  pantheism,  yet  more  essential,  which  consists  in 
suppressing  all  particular  beings,  and  concentrating 
all  existence  in  one  sole  being,  which  is  God.  If 
there  is  but  one  substance,  there  is  but  one  cause  ; 
for  without  substance  there  can  be  only  phenomena ; 
and  phenomena  can  only  transmit  action ;  they  can- 
not produce  it.  Pantheism,  laying  down  the  principle, 
therefore,  that  there  can  be  only  one  being  and  one 
cause,  and  that  the  universe  is  only  a  vast  phenome- 
non, necessarily  concentrates  in  God  all  liberty,  even 
if  it  attributes  liberty  to  him,  and  necessarily  denies 
it  every  where  else.  Man  and  all  other  beings,  there- 
fore, lose  their  quality  of  being  and  of  cause,  and 
become  only  attributes  and  acts  of  the  divine  substance 
and  cause.  Deprived  thus  of  all  proper  causality, 
man  is  also  deprived,  at  the  same  time,  of  all  liberty, 
and,  consequently,  can  have  neither  a  law  of  obliga- 
tion, nor  a  controlling  power  over  his  own  conduct. 
Such  are  the  evident  and  necessary  consequences 
of  pantheism  ;  and  the  pantheist,  who  does  not  adopt 
them,  either  does  not  comprehend  his  own  opinions, 
or  is  voluntarily  false  to  them. 

Thus,  wherever  pantheism  manifests  itself  in  a 
practical  form,  —  as  in  India,  for  example,  —  it  leads 
directly  to  passiveness  or  licentiousness.  Men  brought 


194  JOUFFROY. 

up  in  this  faith,  considering  themselves  as  phenomena, 
and  their  acts,  whatever  they  may  do,  as  the  acts 
of  God,  view  all  conduct  with  indifference;  and  this 
leads  them  either  to  commit  the  most  detestable  acts 
without  remorse,  or  to  abandon  themselves  without 
care  or  thought  to  the  currents  of  that  mighty  ocean, 
on  whose  bosom  they  are  but  insignificant  drops. 
Such  are  the  fruits  which  this  system  has  always 
produced  in  the  East,  and  they  are  its  legitimate 
results ;  pantheism  should  never  disavow  them. 

You  will  thus  see,  gentlemen,  that  I  had  reason 
for  classing  the  system  of  pantheism  among  those 
which  render,  a  priori,  the  existence  of  a  law  of 
obligation  impossible ;  and,  if  it  is  ground  enough 
upon  which  to  condemn  any  doctrine  as  false  that  it 
leads  to  such  a  result,  pantheism  must  be  condemned. 
Does  it  deserve  this  sentence  7  Does  pantheism, 
like  necessity  and  mysticism,  rest,  for  its  foundation, 
upon  error  7  To  my  mind,  it  is  undeniable  that  it 
does ;  and  a  few  words  only  will  be  needed  to  point 
out  to  you  the  source  of  this  system  in  human  nature, 
and  its  radical  defect. 

We  have  two  kinds  of  knowledge,  derived  from 
different  sources.  When  we  direct  our  perceptive 
faculties  to  that  portion  of  real  being  which  is 
actually  before  us  and  within  our  reach,  there  arise 
in  our  minds  ideas  or  notions,  which  are  images 
of  what  we  have  observed.  Hence  the  first  kind 
of  knowledge,  given  by  observation,  whose  character- 
istic it  is  to  represent  whatever  observation  has 
grasped  —  or,  in  other  words,  whatever  actually  is. 
If  all  our  knowledge  was  of  this  kind,  we  should 


SYSTEM    OP    PANTHEISM.  195 

possess,  indeed,  particular  and  even  general  truths, 
representing  a  portion  of  what  actually  exists  and 
happens ;  but  it  is  plain  that  we  should  possess  nothing 
which  reached  to  or  represented  what  ought  to  be : 
that  is  to  say,  we  should  know  only  a  portion  of  that 
which  now  is  and  now  happens,  and  not  all  which  can 
be  and  can  happen.  Now  that  we  have  knowledge,  — 
the  truth  of  which  does  reach  to  all  possible  cases, — 
does  embrace  all  times,  —  and  represent  not  only  the 
portion  of  real  being  observed  by  us,  but  all  reality,  — • 
this,  gentlemen,  is  undeniable ;  and  equally  undeniable 
is  it,  that  observation  could  never  have  given  us  such 
knowledge,  for  observation  extends  only  to  a  deter- 
mined and  circumscribed  portion  of  real  being,  and, 
consequently,  can  never  produce  more  than  particular 
and  limited  notions. 

Universal  notions,  therefore,  must  spring  from  an- 
other source,  and  that  is  reason.  The  observation  of 
certain  facts,  now  existing,  is  the  occasion  when 
reason  conceives  at  once  of  other  facts,  which 
cannot  but  be,  and  which,  having  thus  a  necessary 
existence,  must  always  have  been,  and  will  always 
be;  and  hence  arise  truths,  limited  to  no  time  nor 
place,  and  applicable  to  all  possible  cases.  Such, 
for  instance,  is  the  truth,  that  every  effect  has  a 
cause  —  a  truth  which  reason  instantly  conceives  when 
a  fact  is  seen  to  occur,  and  which,  when  once  con- 
ceived, extends  to  all  cases,  all  times,  all  places, 
appears  to  us  universal,  absolute,  without  possible 
exception,  and  seems,  in  a  word,  to  represent  and 
express  not  only  that  which  is,  but  also  that  which 
must  be  and  cannot  but  be. 


196  JOUFFROY. 

There  are,  therefore,  in  our  minds,  two  kinds  of 
knowledge,  and  two  distinct  sources  of  knowledge  ; 
first,  particular  and  general  knowledge,  representing 
what  now  is,  and  obtained  by  observation ;  and,  sec- 
ondly, universal  and  absolute  knowledge,  represent- 
ing what  ought  to  be,  and  which  is  the  fruit  of 
the  a  priori  conceptions  of  reason. 

And  now,  when  we  apply  to  truth  of  this  latter 
kind,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  absolute  principles, 
conceived  a  priori  by  reason,  the  reasoning,  which 
is  quite  another  thing  from  reason,  and  draw  from 
these  principles  the  logical  consequences  flowing 
from  them,  we  arrive  at  an  idea  of  the  world, 
which  does  not  agree  at  all  with  the  idea  obtained 
from  observation ;  reason  conceiving,  a  priori,  that 
which  ought  to  be,  and  observation  testifying  to 
that  which  now  is. 

It  is  to  the  former  of  these  two  modes  of  ob- 
taining knowledge,  that  pantheism  trusts.  The  pan- 
theist takes,  then,  absolute  principles,  conceived,  a 
priori,  by  the  reason,  and  the  notions  of  cause, 
of  being,  of  time,  space,  &c.,  comprehended  and 
implied  in  these  principles ;  and  then  applying  rea- 
soning to  these  premises,  he  determines,  by  logical 
deduction,  what  real  being  must  be,  without  taking 
any  count  of  the  testimony  given  directly  to  all 
men,  by  observation,  of  a  portion  of  what  actually 
now  is. 

Such  is  the  manner  in  which  pantheism  acquires 
knowledge ;  and  here  we  discover  the  source  of  the 
false  idea  given  by  it  of  all  things.  Had  God  willed 
that  we  should  become  acquainted  with  his  works 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  197 

by  reason  only,  he  would  not  have  endowed  us  with 
this  other  faculty,  which  we  call  observation ;  and  as 
he  has  given  us  this  latter  faculty,  and  inspired  us 
also  with  a  faith  in  the  notions  which  it  produces, 
these  notions  cannot  be  useless,  and  must  be  destined 
to  enter,  as  an  element,  and  play  some  part  in  our 
acquisition  of  the  knowledge  of  real  being ;  in  3 
word,  these  notions  must  be  intended  to  modify,  in 
some  sort,  such  notions  of  real  being  as  are  given 
by  simple  reasoning,  when  applied  to  the  a  priori  prin- 
ciples conceived  by  reason. 

This  cooperation  of  observation  with  reason,  pan- 
theism slights ;  this  correction,  applied  by  it  to  the 
wholly  ideal  system  given  by  reason,  pantheism  re- 
jects ;  it  finds  nothing  in  (he  idea  which  observation 
gives  of  the  world.  Here  is  the  error,  the  radical 
error  of  pantheism ;  and,  if  we  would  attack  the 
system,  here  is  its  vulnerable  part.  We  must  examine 
the  contradictions  between  the  results  of  pantheism 
and  of  observation,  and  the  ground  of  the  pantheist's 
contempt  for  observation  ;  and,  if  such  contempt  is 
groundless,  and  he  yet  will  not  admit  the  correction 
which  observation  brings  to  the  pure  ideas  of  reason, 
then  have  we  a  right  to  reproach  him  with  not  re-* 
specting  the  whole  of  human  intelligence;  but,  with 
mutilating  it,  by  demanding  of  one  of  its  faculties 
that  representation  of  the  world,  which  can  be  given 
correctly  only  by  a  cooperation  of  all  the  faculties 
with  which  we  are  endowed.  I  limit  myself,  now, 
to  this  simple  observation  :  we  must  follow  out  this 
view,  and  attack  pantheism  upon  this  side,  would  we 
refute  it. 

R2 


198  JOUFFROY. 

Such,  gentlemen,  —  and  I  must  ask  your  indulgence 
for  it,  —  is  the  only  refutation  which  the  plan  of  thia 
course  will  permit  me  to  present  of  pantheism.  When 
I  come  to  systems  which  have  drawn  from  the  analy- 
sis of  the  moral  facts  of  our  nature,  opinions  destroy- 
ing or  altering  the  true  idea  of  ethical  science,  I 
shall  refute  them  at  full  length ;  for  they  are,  truly, 
systems  of  ethics,  and,  in  a  course  having  ethics  for 
its  object,  they  must  be  thus  examined  and  refuted ;  but 
in  relation  to  systems,  which,  like  this  now  discussed, 
destroy  ethical  science,  by  opinions  foreign  from  the 
moral  facts  of  our  nature,  I  must  be  more  brief  If 
it  was  my  plan  to  refute  these  doctrines  in  a  manner 
at  all  proportioned  to  their  importance,  there  is  no  one 
to  which  I  should  devote  more  time-  than  to  this  of 
pantheism ;  but  this  would  destroy  the  proper  plan 
of  my  present  course,  and  prolong,  indefinitely,  your 
attendance.  I  can  only,  therefore,  in  regard  to  such 
systems,  point  out  to  you  the  moral  consequences 
which  they  imply  ;  and,  then,  having  disengaged  clearly 
the  fundamental  idea  on  which  they  are  based,  limit 
myself  to  an  exposure  of  the  radical  error  of  the  idea, 
and  to  a  specification  of  the  precise  particulars  in 
which  it  is  at  variance  with  the  actual  condition  of 
things.  Within  these  limits  I  have  confined  all  my 
observations  upon  the  systems  of  mysticism  and  ne- 
cessity, and  within  the  same  limits  I  have  felt  bound 
to  comprise  the  discussion  of  pantheism. 

I  cannot  close  this  lecture,  gentlemen,  without 
apologizing  for  having  detained  you  so  long  upon 
such  subtile  ideas  as  these  of  which  Spinoza's  system 
is  composed ;  but  so  much  is  said  of  this  system,  and  it 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  199 

is  so  often  cited  by  those  who  have  never  even  opened 
the  works  of  this  great  metaphysician,  that  I  have 
been  glad  to  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity  of  giving 
some  idea  of  it  to  those  who  attend  this  course.  You 
will  see,  even  from  this  succinct  description,  complex 
and  difficult  of  comprehension  as  it  has  been,  how 
guilty  he  must  be  of  levity,  who  appeals  to  Spinoza, 
on  all  occasions,  with  an  air  of  confidence.  For 
myself,  I  declare  I  know  no  labor  so  difficult  in  meta- 
physical study,  as  to  form  a  precise  idea  of  the  sys- 
tem exhibited  in  the  ethics  of  Spinoza ;  and,  if  I 
should  be  asked  to  give  a  detailed  and  complete 
exposition  of  this  system,  I  should  require  not  a  few 
lectures,  but  a  course  of  six  months. 


200  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    VIII. 

SYSTEM  OF  SKEPTICISM. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  the  two  preceding  lectures  it  has  been 
my  desire,  first,  to  exhibit  the  system  of  pantheism 
under  the  form  in  which  it  was  presented  by  Spinoza, 
and  then,  putting  aside  the  peculiarities  of  this  form, 
to  disengage  the  essential  and  fundamental  principles 
of  the  system ;  and  I  have  attempted  thus  to  show  the 
manner  in  which  these  principles  sap  the  foundations 
of  morality,  and  the  radical  error  which  justifies  all 
sound  philosophy  in  rejecting  them.  I  have  now  done 
with  pantheism ;  and  in  this  lecture  I  proceed,  there- 
fore, at  once  to  the  system  of  skepticism,  the  fourth 
and  last  that  I  proposed  to  examine. 

It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  European  nations  to 
slight  real  being,  and  to  substitute  for  it  the  pure 
conceptions  of  reason,  or  the  chimerical  visions  of 
imagination ;  for  they  are  endowed  in  general  with  a 
spirit  that  is  practical,  exact,  and  observing.  Not  so 
with  the  nations  of  the  East.  Opposite  dispositions 
incline  them  rather  to  mysticism  and  pantheism. 
Skepticism  has,  therefore,  occupied,  in  the  progress 
of  European  philosophy,  since  its  birth  in  Greece  to 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  201 

the  present  time,  a  far  larger  space  than  pantheism; 
and,  while  few  adherents  only  have  been  added  to 
the  latter,  skeptics  have  been  innumerable.  Again, 
there  is  but  one  way  for  becoming  a  pantheist, 
but  a  thousand  for  becoming  a  skeptic.  The  cer- 
tainty of  human  knowledge  may  be  attacked  in  a 
thousand  different  ways  ;  and,  satisfied  with  the  one 
that  we  have  followed,  we  may  suppose  ourselves  vic- 
torious, and  become  skeptics.  For  these  two  reasons, 
a  complete  exposition  of  the  foundations  of  skepti- 
cism, as  they  have  been  exhibited  during  the  two 
thousand  years  of  European  philosophy,  is  far  from 
being  an  easy  undertaking,  and  would  require  a  much 
more  detailed  discussion  than  I  have  given  to  the 
system  of  pantheism.  But  I  will  endeavor,  in  the 
present  lecture,  to  consider,  in  a  rapid  and  concise 
manner,  not,  indeed,  all  the  arguments  of  skeptics 
against  the  certainty  of  human  knowledge,  but  still 
the  main  principles  upon  which  those  arguments  rest 
I  invite,  therefore,  your  closest  attention. 

Human  knowledge  is  something  intermediate,  be- 
tween the  mind  that  knows  and  the  thing  known  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  it  is  the  representation,  the 
image  of  real  being  in  the  intellect.  Three  ele- 
ments, then,  are  to  be  distinguished  in  the  phenom- 
enon of  knowledge  —  the  subject  of  knowledge,  that 
is  to  say,  the  intellect  acquiring  it  ;  the  object  of 
knowledge,  that  is,  the  real  being  represented; 
and  lastly,  the  knowledge  itself,  or  the  represen- 
tation in  the  intellect  of  the  real  being.  This  being 
premised,  knowledge  is  true,  if  .it  is  a  faithful  image 
of  the  object  ;  it  is  false,  if  it  is  an  unfaithful  one. 


*+**• 


202  JOUFFROY 

The  efforts  of  those,  therefore,  who  desire  to  prove 
that  we  know  nothing  with  certainty,  must  be  directed 
wholly  to  the  point  of  showing  that  human  knowledge 
is  not  a  faithful  representation  of  its  object ;  and 
those  who  wish  to  maintain  the  certainty  of  human 
knowledge  must  prove  the  contrary. 

Such  is  the  battle-field,  where  skepticism  and  dog- 
matism contend.  The  controversy  between  them  re- 
duces itself  to  this  question  —  Is  human  knowledge,  or 
is  it  not,  a  faithful  image  of  real  being?  And,  as  in 
every  act  of  knowing  there  are  three  elements, — the 
knowledge  itself,  the  subject  attaining  it,  and  the  ob- 
ject represented,  —  skeptical  systems  pretend  to  prove, 
by  an  analysis  of  human  knowledge,  of  the  real 
being  represented,  and  of  the  intellect,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  answer  the  question  in  the  affirmative. 

The  nature  of  knowledge,  the  nature  of  the  object 
of  knowledge,  and  the  nature  of  the  subject  of  knowl- 
edge, are  the  three  sources  whence  all  arguments  of 
skepticism  must  necessarily  and  do  actually  proceed. 
You  will  see  how  all  these  arguments  fall  successively 
under  one  of  these  three  great  heads.  I  shall  limit 
myself  to  the  principal  ones,  and  will  begin  with  those 
which  are  drawn  from  the  nature  of  knowledge  itself. 

The  first  defect  to  be  observed  in  human  knowledge 
is  its  incompleteness ;  and  this  is  a  defect  which  cannot 
be  denied.  No  one  has  ever  had  the  boldness  to 
assert,  that  man  is  capable  of  arriving  at  complete 
knowledge ;  it  is  evidently  impossible  ;  it  is  an  achieve- 
ment to  which  humanity  has  never  had  the  presumption 
to  aspire.  Yet  more ;  we  acknowledge  at  once  that 
even  such  knowledge  as  we  are  competent  to  gain, 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  203 

is  but  small  in  comparison  with  our  ignorance.     Our 
knowledge,  therefore,  must  be  incomplete. 

Now,  if  human  knowledge  is  necessarily  incomplete, 
and  so  very  incomplete,  what  faith  can  we  repose  in  it? 
That  any  element  of  knowledge  may  be  perfectly 
conceived  and  comprehended,  is  it  not  necessary  that 
all  other  elements  of  knowledge  should  be  present 
also  to  the  intellect  ?  Each  portion  of  real  being 
has  relations  to  every  other  portion  ;  and,  if  we  are 
ignorant  of  these,  and  of  the  relations  connecting 
them 'with  what  we  do  know,  then  even  this  knowledge 
must  be  imperfect,  and,  consequently,  not  to  be 
depended  on.  Thus,  from  the  consideration  that 
human  knowledge  is  incomplete,  comes  the  first  argu- 
ment against  the  faith  which  we  blindly  repose  in  it. 

But  let  us  forget,  for  a  time,  this  imperfection 
of  our  knowledge,  and  consider  its  characteristics. 
And  what  do  we  see  1  We  see  that  this  incomplete 
knowledge  has  no  durability  nor  permanence.  On 
the  very  same  question,  the  human  mind  in  successive 
ages  passes  from  one  opinion  to  another,  and  never 
attaches  itself  firmly  to  any.  This  mutability  of 
human  opinion  is  displayed  in  the  history  of  every 
nation.  That  which  we  call  the  life  of  a  nation 
is  nothing  more  than  the  perpetual  transformations 
of  its  ideas  upon  the  most  important  subjects.  This 
mutability,  however,  goes  yet  further ;  it  reaches  to 
individuals  as  well  as  to  nations,  and  the  human  race  : 
however  short  life  may  be,  —  however  rapid  the  passage 
of  man  across  this  earthly  scene,  from  infancy  to 
youth,  from  youth  to  mature  years,  from  maturity 
to  old  age,  from  year  to  year,  from  month  to  month, 


204  JOUFFROY. 

from  week  to  week,  —  his  opinions  alter  and  are  modi- 
fied or  changed  on  every  point ;  so  that  there  is  muta- 
bility in  individuals  as  well  as  in  communities,  and  in 
communities  as  well  as  in  the  race. 

This  is  not  all,  gentlemen ;  this  mutability  of 
human  opinions  in  time  becomes,  if  I  may  say  so, 
diversity  in  space.  Take  the  human  race,  in  any 
given  age,  and  consider  it  in  the  different  nations 
which  compose  it,  and  you  will  find,  among  these 
different  nations,  the  greatest  diversity  of  opinions 
upon  the  most  important  points.  You  will  see  that 
Americans  do  not  think  about  them  like  Europeans, 
nor  Europeans  like  Asiatics.  You  will  see  that 
neighboring  nations,  divided  only  by  a  river,  a  moun- 
tain, or  an  imaginary  line,  profess  wholly  different 
opinions  upon  the  same  points ;  and  this  diversity 
you  will  find  in  the  bosom  of  each  nation,  throughout 
every  family,  whose  members  will  differ  one  from 
another.  And  these  opinions,  which  succeed  each 
other  in  time,  or  coexist  in  space,  are  distinguished 
not  only  by  faint  shades  of  difference  from  each  other, 
but  often  the  diversity  approaches  absolute  contra- 
diction. Hence  the  faith  of  one  place  or  age  is 
precisely  opposite  to  that  of  another  age  or  place. 
And  the  same  questions  about  real  being  are  forever 
agitnted  anew. 

If  human  knowledge,  in  its  natural  development, 
presents  to  the  observer  such  a  spectacle,  what  follows? 
Does  it  not  follow,  that  this  very  real  being,  which  is 
the  object  of  knowledge,  —  and  which  knowledge,  to 
be  true,  must  faithfully  represent,  —  offers  different  or 
contradictory  appearances  to  human  intelligence,  ao 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM. 


205 


cording  to  times,  places,  circumstances,  and  indi- 
viduals? To  which,  now,  of  these  impressions  and 
representations,  shall  1  give  the  name  of  truth  ?  To 
which  shall  I  trust  1  Shall  I  believe  in  the  opinions 
of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  or  in  those  of  our  own 
times?  Shall  I  prefer  our  own  opinions  to  those  of  the 
Chinese,  or  those  of  the  Chinese  to  those  of  the  Amer- 
ican Indians?  Are  not  all  these  opinions  equally 
human  knowledge?  Do  they  not  equally  exist  in 
human  intelligence?  On  what  ground  shall  I  prefer 
one  to  another  ?  For  what  reason  shall  I  put  faith 
in  one,  and  refuse  it  to  all  others?  There  is  evidently 
no  legitimate  ground  for  choice ;  and  yet  I  can  believe 
in  them  only  on  such  a  condition.  I  ought  not,  then, 
to  believe  at  all ;  for  I  have  no  right  to  believe. 

Let  us  pass  now  from  the  spectacle  offered  by  human 
knowledge  itself,  to  the  object  of  knowledge,  and  the 
motives  for  doubt  will  appear  equally  strong. 

The  object  of  knowledge,  or  real  being,  is  made  up, 
partly  of  that  which  is  within  the  reach  of  observa- 
tion, and  partly  of  that  which  is  beyond  it.  The 
surface  only  reveals  itself;  the  depths  are  hidden. 

There  are,  therefore,  if  I  may  say  so,  two  elements 
of  the  object  of  knowledge  —  the  apparent  element 
and  the  hidden  element  —  the  surface  and  the  depths, 
—  qualities  and  effects  on  the  one  side,  substance 
and  causes  on  the  other. 

Now,  of  these  two  elements,  the  one  actually  within 
our  reach  is,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  most  mutable. 
You  know  what  modifications  and  transformations  all 
bodies,  all  beings,  animate  and  inanimate,  which 
people  the  vast  creation,  perpetually  undergo.  There 
VOL.  i.  s 


206  JOUFFROY. 

is  not  a  body  that  is  not  incessantly  subjected  to  the 
action  of  a  thousand  different  causes,  which,  from 
moment  to  moment,  from  week  to  week,  from  month 
to-  month,  from  year  to  year,  alter,  change,  transform 
it,  and  leave  it  not  one  instant  the  same.  The  sur- 
face of  objects,  then,  with  which  we  are  acquainted, 
is  not  a  stable  and  permanent  object.  Far  from  it, 
gentlemen ;  it  is  something  forever  fluctuating  and 
never  abiding;  it  is  the  successive  waves  of  a  passing 
stream;  a  fugitive  appearance,  replaced  each  moment 
by  others,  which,  in  turn,  give  place  to  others  which 
succeed.  What,  now,  can  the  knowledge  given  by 
observation  represent,  except  some  one  of  these 
ephemeral  appearances  ?  To-morrow,  an  hour,  or  a 
minute  hence,  this  knowledge  will  represent  what 
has  already  passed  away,  and  no  longer  exists.  The 
notions  which  we  have  acquired  and  laid  up  in  our 
minds,  then,  are  faithful  and  true  only  for  the 
moment  when  they  are  first  received ;  the  next  mo- 
ment they  have  ceased  to  be  so,  for  that  of  which  they 
were  the  type  has  already  gone,  and  something  else 
supplies  its  place. 

If  this  is  true  of  our  knowledge  of  surfaces  pre- 
sented to  the  eye,  what  can  our  knowledge  be  of  the 
depths  of  being  which  are  hidden  ?  We  can  explain  the 
acquisition  of  this  latter  kind  of  knowledge  only  in  one 
of  two  ways ;  either  we  infer  it  from  the  knowledge 
of  the  surface,  or  our  reason  conceives  it  a  priori. 
If  we  admit  that  it  is  in  the  former  mode,  then, 
I  ask,  is  the  induction  from  the  variable  to  the  con- 
stant, from  the  accessary  to  the  principal,  a  legitimate 
one?  The  portion  of  real  being  observed  is  not  only 


SYSTEM    OP    SKEPTICISM.  207 

the  smaller  portion,  but  it  is  the  least  important,  and 
is  essentially  secondary.  What  are  qualities  when 
compared  with  substance,  or  effects  when  compared 
with  causes  1  What  is  the  finite,  the  transient,  the 
variable,  when  compared  with  the  infinite,  the  du- 
rable, the  immutable  ?  Evidently,  the  premises  on 
which  we  reason  cannot  support,  or  make  legitimate, 
the  conclusions  which,  it  is  pretended,  we  can  deduce 
from  them.  But  have  we  even  these  premises  them- 
selves ?  Have  we  not  just  seen  that  we  neither  have, 
nor  can  have,  any  true  knowledge  of  the  surfaces  of 
things ;  and,  that  such  knowledge  as  we  think  we 
have,  neither  does  nor  can  represent  any  thing, 
except  for  the  moment  when  it  is  received  ?  Were 
the  pretended  premises,  then,  sufficient  to  sustain  our 
reasoning,  it  might  still  be  said,  with  truth,  that  we 
had  no  such  premises. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  conceive  d  priori  of  that 
portion  of  real  being,  which  is  beyond  observation, 
what  authority  have  we  for  such  a  conception?  What 
else  is  this  but  a  divination,  a  presumption,  the  ex- 
actness and  authority  of  which  we  cannot  prove  ? 
When  my  reason  conceives  necessarily  of  what  my 
observation  cannot  reach,  —  when  it  forms  an  idea 
which  it  cannot  but  form,  a  necessary,  an  irresistible 
idea,  —  I  immediately  conclude,  it  is  true,  that  this  idea 
does  faithfully  represent  real  being ;  but  where  are  the 
demonstrative  proof  and  authority  for  this?  Singular 
reasoning,  indeed,  which  determines  the  truth  of  an 
idea  from  its  necessity,  from  the  blind  instinct  pro- 
ducing it !  Be  it,  then,  that  human  intelligence  does 


208  JOUFFROY. 

draw  conclusions  as  to  the  depths  of  being,  from  its 
surface,  —  be  it  that  it  does  form  conceptions  of  it  a 
priori,  —  it  is  still  impossible  to  establish,  in  any 
thorough  manner,  the  certainty  of  such  knowledge. 
And,  since  the  knowledge  representing  the  surface  of 
things,  and  derived  immediately  from  observation,  is 
liable  to  no  less  weighty  objections,  it  follows,  from 
a  careful  analysis  of  the  object  of  knowledge,  that, 
so  far  from  being  led  to  any  convincing  proof  that 
human  knowledge  is  true,  we  seem  to  be  furnished 
with  a  thousand  reasons  for  thinking  that  it  is  not 
true,  and  that  it  cannot  and  ought  not  to  be 
trusted. 

But,  gentlemen,  such  objections  as  these  are  slight, 
are  nothing,  in  comparison  with  others  which  skep- 
ticism has  drawn  from  the  very  nature  of  human 
intelligence  itself,  or,  in  other  words,  from  the 
subject  of  knowledge. 

We  have  just  seen,  in  analyzing  the  object  of 
knowledge,  that  it  is  not  fixed,  but  essentially  mu- 
table and  variable.  The  same  may  be  said,  and  with 
yet  more  reason,  of  the  subject  of  knowledge,  that  is, 
of  man  himself.  When  we  consider  man  only  as  to  his 
corporeal  frame,  a  perpetual  transformation,  like  that 
which  we  observe  in  all  things  else,  is  equally  observa- 
ble in  him.  The  human  body  remains  for  no  two 
successive  moments  identically  the  same ;  the  particles 
composing  it  are  every  moment  giving  place  to  others; 
and  yet  this  body,  which  is  forever  thus  incessantly 
renewing  itself,  is  the  instrument  used  in  acquiring 
knowledge ;  as  it  changes,  the  apparatus  of  the  senses 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  209 

change ;  and,  if  the  senses  alter,  our  knowledge  must 
be  affected,  even  if  the  intellect  itself  remains  immut- 
able. 

But  yet  more,  a  crowd  of  circumstances,  a  multi- 
tude of  various  influences,  tend,  in  addition  to  the 
body,  to  modify  our  knowledge.  Man  is  changed  by 
years ;  he  is  neither  intellectually  nor  physically  the 
same  when  old,  as  when  young,  when  mature,  as  when 
a  child;  he  is  changed,  and  his  faculty  of  intelligence, 
also,  by  sickness  and  by  health :  that  a  sick  man 
sees  nothing  as  a  well  man  does,  everyone  knows; 
and  between  these  two  extreme  states  there  is  an 
infinite  number  of  intermediate  bodily  states,  each 
producing  analogous  states  of  mind,  which,  by  color- 
ing every  object  with  varying  hues,  introduce  new 
changes  in  our  knowledge.  How  shall  we  choose, 
with  any  degree  of  certainly,  between  ideas  received 
during  sleep,  and  when  we  are  awake  1  Are  not  the 
faculties  acting  when  we  are  asleep,  the  'same  which 
we  employ  when  awake  ?  And,  if  the  same,  have 
they  not  the  same  authority  ?.  And  what  a  difference, 
too,  do  we  find  between  impressions  of  real  being, 
received  at  different  times !  Of  two  images  of  the 
same  thing,  shall  reason  prefer  one,  and  reject  the 
other?  If  there  is  any  sure,  unquestionable  criterion, 
let  us  know  what  it  is.  Such  a  criterion  can  be  no 
more  found,  than  one  authorizing  us  to  prefer  the 
knowledge  of  a  man,  who  has  retained  his  reason, 
to  that  of  one  who  has  lost  it.  For,  in  such  a  case, 
what  do  I  see  1  Only  two  different  states  of  the 
same  human  intelligence.  And,  I  ask,  on  what 
ground  am  I  justified  in  declaring,  or  by  what  signs 

32 


210  JOUFFROY. 

can  I  determine  that  the  ideas  acquired  in  the  one  case 
are  true,  and  in  the  other  false  ?  The  only  objection 
that  can  be  brought  against  the  insane  man  is,  that  he 
sees  things  differently  from  the  great  body  of  mankind. 
But  a  majority  is  no  criterion  of  the  truth ;  and  no 
more  will  this  criterion  avail  to  determine  between  the 
ideas  of  sleep  and  waking. 

Independently  of  these  causes  of  change,  which  by 
modifying  the  subject  modify  our  knowledge,  there  are 
many  others,  affecting,  in  a  no  less  evident  manner,  all 
our  ideas  and  opinions.  For  instance,  does  not  educa- 
tion determine,  or  at  least  contribute  much  towards  de- 
termining, our  ideas,  upon  the  most  important  matters? 
Do  we  not  receive,  these  ideas  ready  made  from  the 
persons  who  surround  us  in  infancy,  and  from  all  who 
may  accidentally  compose  our  family  ?  And  what  shall 
we  say  of  that  education,  more  powerful  and  extensive 
than  that  of  family,  to  which  we  are  all  subjected,  and 
which  influences  us  in  spite  of  ourselves,  and  without 
our  knowing  it,  the  education  of  the  religion,  laws,  insti- 
tutions, customs,  prejudices,  and  manners  of  our  coun- 
try, —  in  a  word,  of  all  circumstances  contributing  to 
form  the  intellectual  atmosphere  under  which  our  intelli- 
gence is  developed  ?  Must  not  all  these  causes  modify 
prodigiously,  and  in  a  thousand  different  ways,  human 
ideas,  without  any  change  in  real  being?  And  now,  if 
we  add  the  influence  of  the  passions,  and  of  interest, 
upon  our  judgment,  of  rank  and  profession,  of  physical 
conformation,  and  of  character,  of  climate,  food,  and 
a  thousand  other  causes,  we  shall  find  that  their  influ- 
ence is  equally  various  and  great.  These  infinite  diver- 
sities in  our  ideas  of  real  being  are  not  produced  by 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  Jill 

real  being  itself;  it  is  not  real  being  that  introduces  the 
different  ideas,  notions,  judgments  of  the  fool  and  of  the 
sage,  of  the  sick  and  of  the  well,  of  the  child  and  of 
the  aged,  of  the  idolater  and  of  the  Christian,  of  the 
Chinese  and  of  the  European,  upon  the  same  subjects, 
where  real  being  is  the  same  for  all.  -This  difference 
of  ideas  is  owing  to  the  mutability  of  the  subject  itself. 
And  how,  then,  can  we  trust  to  the  truth  and  fidelity 
of  these  ideas? 

In  order  that  knowledge  may  be  faithful,  is  it  not  a 
necessary  condition,  that  it  should  be  the  pure  result  of 
the  impression  of  real  being  upon  the  intellect  ?  Hu- 
man intellect  should  therefore  be  a  calm,  clear  mirror, 
in  which  the  image  of  the  reality  may  be  reflected. 
But  if  the  mirror  is  subject  to  the  action  of  a  thousand 
causes  which  modify  it,  and  thus  alter  the  image,  sup- 
plying its  place  by  thousands  having  no  resemblance 
to  the  reality,  what  confidence  can  we  feel  in  these 
images  ?  And  even  when  one  is  faithful,  how  can  it  be 
separated  and  distinguished? 

But  we  must  go  yet  further ;  we  must  analyze  the 
operation  of  the  various  faculties  of  this  intellect, 
which  we  have  thus  far  examined  as  a  whole,  and  see  if 
they  act  separately  in  so  regular  a  manner  as  to  author- 
ize us  to  place  confidence  in  such  results  as  they  may 
give.  And  to  begin  with  the  senses;  we  all  know  that 
they  do  often  deceive  us ;  no  philosopher  has  ever  dis- 
puted it.  No  one  doubts  that  each  sense  gives,  at 
different  times,  different  representations  of  the  same 
object,  and  that  the  different  senses  contradict  one 
another.  The  various  elements  of  our  faculty  of  intel- 
ligence, therefore,  contradict  each  other,  and  contradict 


212 


JOUFFROY. 


themselves.  What  confidence,  then,  can  we  feel  in  it, 
and  to  which  of  its  opposing  testimonies  shall  we  trust? 
And  again,  who  can  assure  us  that  the  eye  sees,  or 
that  the  ear  hears,  or  that  the  touch  feels,  in  one  indi- 
vidual as  it  does  in  another  ?  That  which  is  yellow  to 
me,  may  be  blue  to  another,  to  another  red,  to  another 
black.  And  how  can  I  determine  whether  this  is  the 
case  or  not  ?  These  names  signify  only  that  to  each 
person  the  same  objects  appear  constantly  of  the  same 
color,  but  by  no  means  that  all  who  use  the  same  word 
have  a  sensation  of  the  same  color.  We  should  still 
agree  in  the  language  used,  even  if  what  I  saw  as  yel- 
low should  be  red  to  you.  The  senses  may  be,  there- 
fore, faculties  quite  peculiar  in  each  individual,  and 
may  give  wholly  different  reports  to  different  men  ;  and 
yet  it  is  upon  their  testimony  that  the  greater  part  of 
knowledge  derived  from  observation  must  rest. 

Our  immediate  knowledge,  derived  from  the  second 
source,  reason,  is  based  on  no  better  authority.  I  have 
already  said,  gentlemen,  that  reason  does  not  believe  in 
any  thing  from  a  perception  of  it,  as  observation  does, 
but  from  a  judgment  that  it  ought  to  be,  and  because 
she  cannot  conceive  of  its  not  being.  But  is  this  a  proof 
that  what  she  believes  in  really  does  exist?  What, 
because  my  reason  cannot  but  admit  the  existence  of 
something,  does  it  follow  that  it  really  has  existence? 
Will  a  proposition  express  a  universal  law  of  real  being, 
simply  because  my  intellect  feels  itself  forced  by  a 
blind  necessity,  and  without  proof,  to  admit  it  ?  This  is 
the  only  and  sole  motive  for  believing  in  the  truth  of 
the  a  priori  principles  of  our  reason  ;  for  that  they  do 
not  prove  themselves,  all  philosophers  agree  in  acknowl- 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  213 

edging.  But  what  is  such  belief  as  this,  except  an  act 
of  blind  and  instinctive  faith  ?  What  else  is  it  except 
believing  without  proof,  that  is  to  say,  without  reason 
for  believing  ?  This  would  be  true,  even  if  men  were 
agreed  as  to  the  number  and  nature  of  the  principles 
which  we  are  obliged  to  believe  in  thus  blindly.  But 
no  such  agreement  is  to  be  found  in  the  system  of 
philosophers.  The  list  of  these  principles  given  by 
Aristotle,  is  not  the  list  given  by  Kant ;  and  Kant's 
differs  from  that  of  any  other  philosopher.  It  is  en- 
larged or  reduced  arbitrarily.  In  one  list  are  elements 
not  found  in  another ;  and  yet  worse,  even  those  may 
be  disputed  which  are  found  in  all.  Many  have  been 
rejected,  for  strong  reasons,  by  different  philosophers. 
Hume,  for  instance,  has  dissected  the  principle  of 
causality,  seemingly  so  evident  a  one,  and,  in  the  judg- 
ment of  many,  has  succeeded  in  showing  that  it  has  no 
sound  foundation,  but  is  a  simple  illusion  of  the  human 
mind.  Condillac  has  done  the  same  with  the  principle 
of  substance,  by  virtue  of  which  we  believe  that  there 
can  be  no  such  thing  as  whiteness,  without  something 
that  is  white.  The  substance  of  bodies,  according  to 
this  philosopher,  is  nothing  more  than  the  aggregate  of 
the  qualities  of  bodies.  Some  have  denied  the  exist- 
ence of  space,  others  that  of  duration ;  so  that,  admit- 
ting the  fact  of  this  blind  faith,  on  which  they  are 
founded,  the  a  priori  principles  of  reason  are  still  open 
to  controversy  and  denial. 

Thus  much  of  the  two  faculties,  which  are  the 
sources  of  our  immediate  knowledge.  And  now  it  may 
be  added  that  the  intellectual  processes,  going  on  within 


214  JOUFFROY. 

us  in  relation  to  the  information  thus  given,  will  bear 
critical  examination  no  better. 

These  processes  may  be  all  described  by  the  one 
word  reasoning.  Observation  having  supplied  us  with 
certain  representations  of  real  being,  and  reason  having 
furnished  us  with  what  appear  to  be  necessary  princi- 
ples, intellect  is  capable  of  only  the  one  act  of  arrang- 
ing this  knowledge,  and  of  drawing  conclusions  from 
these  premises,  that  is,  of  reasoning.  If  we  add  to 
these  premises  the  consequences  deduced  from  them  by 
reasoning,  we  have  the  whole  of  human  knowledge. 

And  since  it  has  been  shown  that  observation  and 
reason  give  us  nothing  upon  which  we  can  surely 
depend,  it  follows  that  the  conclusions  drawn  by  rea- 
soning from  such  uncertain  and  fluctuating  information 
must  have  the  same  characteristics,  and  be  uncertain 
and  fluctuating  too.  But  the  very  reasoning  itself,  even 
if  we  should  suppose  the  information  given  to  be  sure 
and  fixed,  —  the  very  reasoning  itself  is  a  fallible  and 
variable  instrument  for  acquiring  knowledge.  You  well 
know  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  are  constantly  great 
mistakes  in  reasoning,  and  that  it  is  thus  proved  that  the 
faculty  of  reasoning  is  not  infallible  ;  for,  if  you  give  the 
same  premises  to  two  persons,  you  know  it  is  possible 
that  they  will  deduce  from  them,  though  they  are  iden- 
tical, diametrically  opposite  conclusions.  Nothing  is 
easier,  as  people  of  all  times,  ancient  and  modern,  have 
acknowledged,  than  to  find  arguments  of  seeming  equal 
strength  for  or  against  any  given  proposition.  Car- 
neades,  and  the  sophists  before  him,  and  advocates  all 
over  the  world  since,  have  succeeded  perfectly  in  this 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  215 

game,  which  would  be  impossible,  if  reasoning  was  not 
a  deceptive  instrument. 

This  sad  view  of  our  faculties,  gentlemen,  is  dis- 
heartening enough  ;  and  yet  I  must  not  omit  the  consid- 
eration of  memory,  playing,  as  it  does,  so  important  a 
part  in  our  acquisition  of  knowledge. 

Memory  lends  its  aid  in  all  the  operations  of  our 
minds,  and  performs  an  important  part  both  in  obser- 
vation and  in  reasoning ;  as  both  of  these  proceed  by 
successive  steps.  If  memory,  then,  is  fallible,  and  its 
communications  uncertain,  the  authority  of  all  our 
knowledge  must  be  destroyed  at  once.  What,  then,  is 
memory  ?  It  is  the  faculty  which  represents  the  past. 
Who  now  is  ignorant,  in  the  first  place,  that  memory 
differs  exceedingly  in  different  persons  ?  In  some  it  is 
more,  in  others  less,  complete  and  sure.  Even  if  mem- 
ory, therefore,  is  incapable  of  altering  the  elements  of 
the  past,  that  is,  of  deceiving,  yet  this  single  fact  of  its 
greater  or  less  degree  of  completeness,  is  sufficient  to 
invalidate  the  truth  of  all  the  intellectual  results,  which 
it  aids  in  producing.  But  who  can  satisfy  us  that 
memory  cannot  deceive  ?  Does  it  not  often  happen 
that  it  represents  the  past  quite  otherwise  than  as  it 
actually  was,  and  as  we  know  it  to  have  been?  And 
if  it  is  said,  that  this  is  because  it  confounds  and  mis- 
takes, not  because  it  deceives,  it  may  yet  be  asked, 
whether  the  result  is  not  the  same  in  the  one  case  as  in 
the  other,  and  whether  a  mistake  does  not  equally  with 
a  falsehood  lead  us  to  believe  what  is  opposite  to  the 
truth  ;  without  adding  the  consideration,  that  the  only 
guaranty  we  can  at  any  time  have  of  the  veracity  of 
memory,  is  the  blind  faith  that  we  repose  in  it. 


216 

If,  now,  to  all  these  reasons  for  doubt  in  the  certainty 
of  our  knowledge,  originating  from  the  fallibility  of 
the  very  faculties  which  communicate  it,  we  add  such 
accessory  causes  as  tend  to  introduce  new  elements  of 
error  into  their  action  ;  if  we  take  also  into  view  the 
illusions,  imaginations,  and  prejudices  of  all  kinds 
which  are  sown  so  thickly  and  spring  up  so  rankly  in 
the  mind,  and  all  the  various  passions  of  our  nature, 
creating,  as  they  do,  so  many  predispositions  and  pre- 
dilections, will  there  not  result  from  such  a  host  of 
reasons  for  doubt,  apparent  on  all  sides,  and  mutually 
supporting  each  other,  a  complete  demonstration  of  the 
uncertainty  of  human  knowledge? 

But  supposing  that  what  we  have  thus  far  said  is 
without  foundation  ;  supposing  that  t>ur  faculties  are  not 
subject  to  variation  and  error  ;  that  they  never  contradict 
themselves,  and  are  perfectly  in  harmony  with  each 
other  ;  that  they  never  give  opposing  testimony ;  that  our 
passions  and  imagination  never  confuse  our  reasonings 
and  mental  vision,  —  let  all  this  be  true,  and  yet  the  sup- 
porters of  the  certainty  of  human  knowledge  have  not 
advanced  one  step. 

For,  gentlemen,  there  is  a  skepticism  yet  deeper  than 
this  which  we  have  now  been  considering,  and  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  grows  up  from  such  strong  and  multiplied 
considerations.  There  is  a  skepticism  which  doubts 
of  human  intelligence  itself,  even  when  admitted  to  be 
a  faculty  consistent  with  itself,  and  free  from  contradic- 
tions; even  when  admitted  to  be,  as  we  say,  infallible. 

If  all  men,  in  all  epochs  of  society,  should  arrive  at 
the  same  ideas  on  the  same  subjects ;  if  each  man,  at 
different  periods  of  life,  and  in  different  circumstances, 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  217 

should  obtain  always  the  same  results,  when  applying 
his  faculties  to  a  consideration  of  the  same  questions ; 
if  all  the  people  of  any  one  country,  or  of  all  nations 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  should  agree  entirely  and 
unanimously  in  their  sentiments  and  opinions,  upon 
every  subject  whatsoever,  —  even  if  this  should  be  the 
case,  what,  then,  would  follow?  What  more  would  all 
this  be,  than  simply  the  testimony  of  human  intelligence 
in  regard  to  real  being  ?  Well !  how  do  we  know  that 
human  intelligence  is  not  so  constituted,  as  to  see 
things  quite  otherwise  than  as  they  actually  are  ?  How 
do  we  know  that  it  is  not  so  organized  as  to  see  as 
square  that  which  is  truly  round,  and  as  yellow  that 
which  is  truly  red,  or  as  good  that  which  is  bad,  and  as 
true  that  which  is  false  ?  Had  God  willed,  as  he  might 
have  done,  so  to  organize  our  intelligence,  that  the 
image  given  by  it  of  real  being  should  be  an  untrue 
one,  like  that  which  water,  when  agitated,  gives  of 
objects  reflected  from  its  surface,  it  would  have  been 
enough,  gentlemen;  by  this  simple  hypothesis,  the 
certainty  of  all  human  knowledge  is  utterly  and  irreme- 
diably destroyed.  To  this  final  objection  of  skepticism 
there  can  be  no  possible  answer,  because  such  an  an- 
swer would  suppose  a  faculty  in  man  enabling  him  to 
judge  between  his  own  intelligence  and  real  being ; 
but  this  is  in  itself  inconceivable ;  and  even  if  it  were 
not  so,  the  supposition  would  avail  nothing,  for  this  new 
faculty  would  at  once  become  liable  to  the  very  objec- 
tion which  it  had  been  summoned  to  remove. 

From  this  rapid  sketch  of  the  various  objections 
which  skepticism  has  brought  against  the  truth  of 
human  knowledge,  you  will  see  that  they  all  originate 


218  JOUFFROY. 

from  a  consideration  of  human  knowledge  in  itself,  or 
of  the  nature  of  the  object  and  subject  of  this  knowl- 
edge. Mutable  and  unstable  as  are  its  object  on  one 
side,  and  its  subject  on  the  other,  knowledge  cannot  in 
itself  be  either  fixed  or  trustworthy  ;  not  fixed,  because 
its  object  alters,  as  soon  as  knowledge  is  obtained  ;  and 
not  trustworthy,  because  no  true  image  of  the  reality 
can  be  reflected  in  so  unstable  a  mirror  ;  and  even  were 
this  not  the  case,  even  were  the  intellect  and  the  object 
of  knowledge  equally  immutable,  it  would  yet  remain  a 
question,  whether  the  intellect  is  fitted  to  give  a  true 
representation  of  real  being.  All  considerations  tend, 
therefore,  to  this  same  conclusion,  that  there  is  no 
ground  for  confidence  in  human  knowledge. 

What,  now,  is  the  immediate  consequence  of  such 
opinions  ?  This,  gentlemen  ;  that  nothing  can  give  us 
assurance  of  the  fact,  that  what  we  consider  good  is 
really  good,  or  that  what  we  consider  bad  is  really  bad, 
or  that  what  we  consider  obligatory  is  really  obligatory, 
or  that  really  forbidden  which  we  think  forbidden.  No 
consequence  could  follow  more  immediately  or  evi- 
dently from  a  principle.  Skepticism  destroys  at  once, 
therefore,  all  morality  and  all  right.  For  a  skeptic, 
moral  truth  exists  no  more  than  mathematical  or  phys- 
ical truth ;  all  truth  vanishes  at  once,  if  every  means 
of  distinguishing  it  from  error  is  proved  to  be  of  no 
avail. 

But,  admitting  the  consequence  to  be  just,  one  thing 
yet  remains  for  the  skeptic  to  explain ;  and  that  is, 
the  existence  of  those  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  of  jus- 
tice and  injustice,  which  are  found  in  human  minds. 
And  skeptics  have  explained  the  existence  of  these 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  219 

ideas  in  a  variety  of  ways  which  do  not  contradict  their 
system. 

Skeptics,  in  ancient  times,  considered  all  such  ideas 
as  the  invention  of  legislators,  intended  to  sustain  the 
weakness  of  the  laws  which  they  enacted,  and  to  re- 
strain those  who  had  no  fear  of  threatened  penalties. 
The  greatest  skeptic  of  modern  times,  Hume,  asserts 
that  they  are  the  result  of  an  inward  sense,  which, 
brought  into  relation  with  human  actions,  is  agreeably 
affected  by  some,  and  disagreeably  by  others,  as  taste 
or  smell  is  by  flavors  and  scents.  It  is  on  account  of 
these  agreeable  or  disagreeable  impressions  that  we 
apply  to  actions  the  qualities  of  good  or  bad,  and  love 
the  one  while  we  dislike  the  other,  and  prefer  the 
former  to  the  latter.  It  is  evident  that  this  explana- 
tion does  no  more  to  establish  moral  obligation  than 
that  of  antiquity  did,  and  that  it  is  equally  in  har- 
mony with  all  the  consequences  of  skepticism.  There 
was  not  a  skeptic  of  ancient  times  who  failed  to  draw 
from  the  system  such  moral  consequences  as  I  have 
described.  Archelaus,  the  sophists  Aristippus,  Arcesi- 
laus,  Pyrrho,  Carneades,  Sextus  Empiricus,  all  professed 
that  there  is  no  sure  distinction  between  good  and  evil ; 
that  good  and  evil  are  altogether  the  effects  of  legisla- 
tion; and  that  their  character  is  determined  by  the 
greatest  interest  of  the  legislator  and  of  society. 

This  consequence,  inevitable  as  it  is  in  the  view  of 
reason,  has,  then,  been  fully  admitted  in  all  time. 
And  more  than  one  skeptic  of  antiquity  appears  to 
have  united  practice  to  theory ;  at  least,  there  are  some 
evidences  that  such  was  the  fact.  Incredible  stories, 
for  instance,  are  told  of  Pyrrho's  complete  indifference 


220  JOUFFROY. 

to  the  distinctions  between  good  and  evil ;  and  as  he 
extended  this  indifference  to  all  other  subjects,  it  was 
not  in  him  a  want  of  morality  so  much  as  a  logical 
adherence  to  his  principles.  In  other  skeptical  schools, 
morality  has  been  resolved  into  pleasure,  and  by  a  pro- 
cess quite  simple  and  natural.  For  although  there  is 
no  truth  or  error  for  the  skeptic,  there  are  yet  agreeable 
and  painful  sensations;  and  for  want  of  the  higher 
good,  which  he  has  lost  sight  of,  he  adopts  the  greatest 
gratification  that  sensibility  enables  him  to  enjoy. 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  221 


LECTURE    IX. 


REFUTATION  OF  SKEPTICISM 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture,  I  had  two  objects  in  view ; 
first,  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the  foundation  on 
which  skepticism  is  based ;  and  secondly,  to  show  you 
that  this  system,  in  destroying  all  faith,  destroys,  also, 
moral  obligation,  the  very  foundation  of  ethics.  There 
remains  one  further  duty  to  fulfil ;  for  I  must  not  pass 
by  the  system  of  skepticism  without  pointing  out  its 
radical  errors.  The  refutation,  however,  must  be  as 
rapid  as  the  exposition.  It  might  be  developed  indefi- 
nitely. I  shall  not  attempt  to  examine,  separately,  the 
various  grounds  for  doubt  proposed  by  skeptics;  but 
will  limit  myself  to  the  statement  of  such  general  views 
as  may  be  used  in  their  refutation.  And  as  the  subject 
is  one  of  a  complex  and  subtile  nature,  I  beg  you  to 
give  me  your  strict  attention. 

I  have  told  you  that  skeptics  draw  their  arguments 
for  doubt  either  from  the  nature  of  human  knowledge, 
of  the  subject  which  knows,  or  of  the  object  known 
Every  skeptical  objection  may  be  ranged  under  one  of 
these  three  categories.  Of  the  three  classes  of  objec- 
tions, those  arising  from  the  nature  of  the  subject  are 


JOUFFROY. 

without  comparison  the  most  grave ;  indeed  they  are 
the  only  ones  which  are  truly  unanswerable;  and  with 
these,  therefore,  I  will  begin. 

But,  in  order  that  the  nature,  weakness,  and  error  of 
these  objections  may  be  comprehended,  it  is  indispen- 
sable that  you  should  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  part 
performed  by  intellect,  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge. 
Without  this  you  will  be  unable,  except  in  a  very 
imperfect  degree,  to  feel  the  force  of  the  objections  of 
the  skeptic,  or  of  such  explanations  as  I  shall  give.  1 
will  first,  therefore,  describe  in  a  few  words  the  process 
by  which  our  knowledge  is  acquired,  and  the  faculties 
employed,  and  will  hastily  lay  bare  the  mechanism  of 
the  wonderful  operations  from  which  human  knowledge 
results.  And  I  trust  that  my  exposition  will  be  intelli- 
gible and  clear. 

However  numerous  and  various  the  kinds  of  human 
knowledge  may  appear  to  be,  they  are  all  to  be  referred 
to  two  classes  of  notions,  the  one  elementary,  and 
communicated  immediately,  the  other  secondary,  and 
derived  from  the  first.  We  recognize,  also,  two  orders 
of  faculties;  the  former  of  which  acquire  directly  a 
knowledge  of  the  reality,  and  form  those  notions  which 
I  call  elementary ;  while  the  latter,  acting  upon  the 
elementary  notions  already  acquired,  deduce  from  them 
our  secondary  knowledge. 

Our  elementary  notions  are  all  derived  from  two 
sources  —  observation  and  reason. 

As  you  well  know,  gentlemen,  the  whole  of  real 
being  is  not  exhibited  to  us,  but  only  that  small  portion 
with  which  we  are  brought  directly  in  contact.  We 
have  a  faculty  fitted  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  this. 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  223 

It  is  the  faculty  of  observation ;  and  we  are  accustomed 
to  call  the  knowledge  obtained  from  it  empirical.  These 
notions  represent  only  what  we  have  observed ;  that 
is,  only  a  portion,  and  a  very  small  portion,  of  what 
actually  is.  They  form  the  first  class  of  the  elementary 
notions  of  human  intelligence ;  and  I  shall  have  said  all 
that  it  is  necessary  you  should  bear  in  mind,  in  asking 
you  to  remember,  that  observation  can  be  applied  in 
two  different  directions  —  outwardly  by  the  senses, 
inwardly  by  consciousness ;  so  that  all  the  knowledge 
which  we  can  obtain  through  observation  is  reduced  to 
that  perceived  out  of  ourselves  by  the  senses,  or  within 
ourselves  by  consciousness. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  sources  of  our  direct 
information  as  to  real  being.  Independently  of  obser- 
vation, we  have  another  faculty  that  communicates 
knowledge.  This  faculty  is  reason,  which  does  not, 
like  observation,  see  what  actually  is,  but  conceives, 
from  what  observation  has  communicated,  of  that  which 
must  and  cannot  but  be.  Hence  a  second  class  of 
elementary  notions,  called  indifferently  conceptions  of 
the  reason,  rational  truths,  a.  priori  principles,  whose 
characteristic  is,  that  they  express  something  which 
cannot  but  be,  which  consequently  is  in  harmony  with 
the  whole  of  real  being,  and  represents  universal  no- 
tions ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  empirical  notions 
represent  only  the  portion  of  real  being  subject  to 
observation,  correspond  and  refer  only  to  that  portion, 
and  never,  therefore,  go  beyond  a  certain  degree  of 
generality. 

Such  are  the  two  classes  of  our  elementary  notions. 
They  include  all  the  materials  of  human  knowledge. 


224  JOUFFROY. 

And  there  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  in  human  intelligence, 
any  elementary  notion  which  is  not  derived  either  from 
observation  of  what  actually  is,  by  the  senses  and  con- 
sciousness, or  from  the  conceptions  of  what  must  be, 
by  the  reason. 

And  here  an  important  remark  should  be  made  —  it 
is,  that  reason  never  rises  to  the  ideas  which  it  is  her 
function  to  introduce  into  human  knowledge,  unless 
the  communications  of  observation  first  supply  the 
occasion.  Thus,  to  give  an  example,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  observation  should  meet  with  something 
which  has  just  begun  to  be,  in  the  portion  of  real 
being  open  to  its  view,  before  reason  can  attain  to  the 
absolute  idea  that  there  must  be  a  cause  for  whatever 
begins  to  exist.  It  is  only  after  unconsciously,  and  in  a 
thousand  particular  cases,  applying  this  universal  idea, 
which  is  secretly  contained  within  it,  that  reason  sud- 
denly disengages  it,  and  conceives  it  under  its  universal 
form.  We  say,  a  thousand  times,  when  observing  some- 
thing that  has  just  begun  to  exist,  "  This  has  a  cause," 
before  we  rise  to  the  conception  of  the  absolute  and  ne- 
cessary idea  implied  by  the  expression,  that  is  to  say,  to 
the  conception  of  the  principle  of  causality  in  itself; 
so  that,  although  these  universal  ideas  are  not  derived 
from  what  observation  gives  us,  yet,  nevertheless,  they 
do  not  arise  without  the  communications  of  observation. 
Observation  lends  her  aid,  therefore,  if  I  may  say  so, 
at  the  birth  of  the  universal  and  absolute  conceptions 
of  reason. 

On  the  other  hand,  reason  operates  in  every  acquisi- 
tion of  observation.  Whatever  the  element  of  real 
being  which  observation  meets  with,  whether  external 


REPUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  225 

or  internal,  there  is  always  superadded  to  the  simple 
notion  it  acquires,  a  supplementary  idea  from  the  rea- 
son. Thus,  when  observation  perceives  a  quality, 
intellect  could  not  form  the  judgment,  "  This  is  white, 
this  is  red,"  unless  beyond  the  mere  quality,  reason 
conceived  of  something  to  which  observation  cannot 
attain,  namely,  substance.  Thus,  again,  when  observa- 
tion has  communicated  the  notions  of  any  two  facts, 
we  could  not  judge  that  they  were  successive  to  each 
other,  unless  reason  added  to  the  mere  notion  of  these 
two  facts  an  idea  of  something  more,  beyond  the  reach 
of  observation  ;  that  is,  of  duration,  which  alone  makes 
succession  possible,  and  the  idea  of  which  is  conse- 
quently implied  in  that  of  succession.  Again,  when,  in 
view  of  any  object  we  pronounce  that  simplest  of  all 
judgments,  "  This  is,"  it  is  because  reason  superadds 
to  the  simple  notion  of  the  object,  supplied  by  observa- 
tion, the  idea  that  observation  does  not  deceive  us, 
and  consequently  that  external  reality  is  conformed  to 
the  internal  idea  which  observation  has  communicated ; 
so  that  we  may  say,  with  equal  truth,  that  observation 
is  the  occasion  of  every  conception  of  the  reason,  and 
yet  that  no  notion  of  observation  can  become  a  judg- 
ment, or  become  knowledge,  without  the  cooperation 
of  an  d  priori  element  which  reason  supplies.  But 
enough  of  this  cooperation  of  these  two  faculties  in  the 
acquisition  of  all  human  knowledge ;  all  that  it  is  im- 
portant we  should  bear  in  mind  is,  that  our  elementary 
knowledge  is  derived  exclusively  from  these  two  sources. 
Thus,  then,  gentlemen,  are  obtained  the  materials  of 
all  our  ideas.  And  now  another  faculty  begins  to  act, 
which  works  up  these  materials,  and  deduces  from  them 


226  JOUFFROY. 

our  ulterior  knowledge.  This  faculty  is  reasoning;  and 
we  must  distinguish  between  reasoning  by  induction 
and  by  deduction  ;  for  reasoning  has  two  modes  of 
proceeding. 

This  is  the  process  of  reasoning  by  induction  :  when 
several  particular  cases,  which  are  analogous,  have 
been  ascertained  by  observation,  and  stored  in  the 
memory,  reason  applies  to  this  series  of  analogous 
observations  the  a  priori  principle,  that  the  laws  of 
nature  are  constant ;  and,  at  once,  what  was  true 
through  observation  in  only  twenty,  thirty,  or  forty 
observed  cases,  becomes,  by  the  application  of  this 
principle,  a  general  law,  as  true  of  other  cases  not 
observed  as  of  those  which  observation  has  ascer- 
tained. From  the  results  of  observation,  and  solely  by 
the  application  to  these  results  of  a  conception  of  rea- 
son, the  mind  arrives  at  a  consequence  that  transcends 
them.  Such  is  the  method  of  reasoning  by  induction. 
Its  characteristic  is,  that  it  proceeds  from  certain 
results,  communicated  by  observation,  to  a  general 
principle  within  which  they  are  included. 

The  process  of  reasoning  by  deduction  is  as  follows  : 
a  truth  of  any  kind,  particular,  general,  or  universal, 
being  made  known,  reason  deduces  from  it  whatever 
other  truths  it  includes ;  sometimes  the  deduction  is 
complete,  in  which  case  reason  only  presents  the  whole 
truth  under  two  different  aspects ;  at  other  times  the 
deduction  is  imperfect,  and  then  reason  passes  from  the 
whole  to  a  part.  But  in  either  case,  if  we  compare 
together  the  results  of  our  reasoning  and  the  premises 
from  which  we  drew  them,  we  shall  always  find  that 
these  results,  and  a  part  or  the  whole  of  the  premises 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  227 

are  perfectly  equivalent.     This  is  the  special  character- 
istic of  deductive  reasoning. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  important  transformations 
to  which  intellect  subjects  the  primary  notions  imme- 
diately communicated  by  observation  and  reason. 
There  are  two  faculties  by  which  we  acquire  our  ele- 
mentary notions  —  observation  and  reason  ;  and  two 
modes  of  reasoning  by  which  these  elementary  notions 
are  converted  into  ultimate  notions  —  induction  and 
deduction. 

One  other  faculty  cooperates  in  the  formation  of 
human  knowledge.  It  is  the  faculty  that  preserves  and 
makes  durable  the  notions  acquired ;  I  mean  memory. 
Without  this  faculty,  human  knowledge  would  be 
forever  limited  to  the  present  moment.  Memory  treas- 
ures up  the  successive  results  of  observation,  and 
thence  comes  experience.  Memory  is  interwoven, 
indeed,  with  the  texture  of  all  reasoning ;  for  we  could 
never  arrive  at  a  conclusion,  without  remembering  at 
each  step  both  the  premises  from  which  we  set  out, 
and  the  intermediate  steps  already  taken.  Memory 
enters,  therefore,  as  a  necessary  auxiliary,  into  the 
formation  of  all  the  notions  derived  from  observation 
or  reasoning,  and  it  alone  preserves  these  notions. 
Not  so,  however,  with  ideas  supplied  by  reason.  In 
their  acquisition  memory  has  no  part,  because  they 
are  formed  spontaneously.  Neither  does  it  aid  in 
keeping  them,  for  this  is  not  needed.  As  reason 
acquires  these  ideas  because  it  is  impossible  not 
to  conceive  them,  this  necessity  continues  to  be 
felt,  and  reason  conceives  them  anew,  whenever  they 
are  required  in  the  process  of  obtaining  knowledge: 


228  JOUFFROY. 

there  is  no  need  of  the  employment  of  memory,  there- 
fore, to  preserve  them.  Reason  alone,  of  all  our  fac- 
ulties, is  independent  of  memory,  and  demands  not 
her  aid. 

Such,  omitting  innumerable  details,  are  the  pos- 
itive results,  to  which  long  study  of  the  origin  and 
formation  of  knowledge  has  led  me.  Such,  in  my 
view,  is  the  whole  process  of  intellectual  creations ; 
and  it  is,  as  you  see,  most  simple. 

Thus  much  having  been  explained,  we  are  now  in  a 
situation  to  examine  the  grounds  upon  which  the  truth 
of  human  knowledge,  thus  acquired,  is  questioned,  and 
those  upon  which  it  may  securely  rest.  We  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  materials  of  this  knowledge,  and  the 
mode  in  which  its  various  elements  are  formed.  We 
shall  be  able  to  see,  therefore,  the  exact  tendency  and 
real  force  of  objections  urged  against  it. 

And  in  the  first  place,  gentlemen,  when  any  one  of 
the  four  faculties,  which  cooperate  in  the  formation  of 
our  knowledge  is  brought  into  action,  and  communi- 
cates any  notion,  such  as  it  is  fitted  to  introduce,  it  is 
evident  enough  that  we  neither  should  nor  could 
believe  in  the  truth  of  this  notion,  except  upon  one 
condition  —  that  we  have  faith  in  the  natural  veracity 
of  this  faculty,  that  is  to  say,  in  its  ability  to  see  things 
as  they  are ;  for  if  we  have  any  doubt  of  this,  it  is 
evidently  impossible  that  there  should  be  any  truth  or 
belief  at  all  for  us.  And  yet  there  is  not,  and  cannot 
be,  any  proof  of  this  natural  veracity  of  our  faculties. 
When  reason  says,  "  This  must  be,  of  necessity," 
what  proof  have  we  that  in  reality  it  is  so  1  We 
have  absolutely  none.  When  memory  has  a  clear, 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  229 

precise,  undoubting  recollection  of  having  seen  such  a 
person  in  such  a  place,  what  proof  have  we  that  it 
represents  the  past  as  it  really  was  ?  None,  none  what- 
ever. When  observation,  directed  attentively  and 
steadily  upon  any  object,  says,  "  Here  is  something 
which  is  not  round,  but  square,  which  is  not  white,  but 
red,  which  has  such  or  such  a  quality,  and  not  some 
other  one,"  what  proves  that  our  senses  do  not  give 
representations  different  from  the  objects  ?  Again  I 
say,  we  have  no  proof.  To  torment  ourselves  in  seek- 
ing to  prove  that  the  faculties  through  which  we 
receive  our  notions  are  not  so  constituted  as  to  give 
false,  but  true  representations,  is  to  torment  ourselves 
most  foolishly.  For  it  is  unquestionable,  that  any 
proof  of  this,  such  as  can  be  imagined,  must  be  the 
work  of  these  very  faculties,  and  consequently  must  be 
proved  itself. 

Tims,  then,  it  appears  that  the  principle  of  all  cer- 
tainty, and  of  all  belief,  must  be,  in  the  first  instance, 
an  act  of  blind  faith  in  the  natural  veracity  of  our  fac- 
ulties. When  a  skeptic,  therefore,  says  to  a  dogmatist, 
"  You  have  no  proof  that  your  faculties  see  things  as 
they  are,  no  proof  that  God  has  not  so  constituted 
them  as  to  deceive  you,"  he  says  what  is  incontroverti- 
ble and  undeniable.  Such  is  the  necessary  condition 
of  all  faith.  But  let  us  for  the  moment  put  by  this 
first  general  argument  of  skepticism,  to  which  we  will 
directly  return,  and  let  us  see  whether,  as  the  skeptic 
pretends,  it  is  still  impossible  to  believe,  even  when  we 
do  not  consider  this  chief  ground  of  doubt.  The 
skeptic  asserts,  as  you  will  remember,  that,  even  admit- 
ting that  our  faculties  are  so  constituted  as  to  see 
VOL.  i.  u 


230  JOUFFROY. 

things  as  they  are,  it  is  yet  plain  that  there  can  be 
no  confidence  reposed  in  the  information  given  by 
them,  because  each  separate  faculty  is  liable  to  be 
deceived,  and  there  is  no  sure  mode  by  which  we 
can  separate  the  truth  from  the  error  in  its  testimony. 

We  need  not  review  the  arguments  by  which  the 
skeptic  attempts  to  establish  this  point ;  for  they  were 
considered  at  sufficient  length  in  the  preceding  lecture. 
Let  us  now  proceed  to  try  the  validity  of  these  argu- 
ments. Have  they  really  any  force  1  I  think  not. 

The  reasoning  of  the  skeptic  suggests  at  once  this 
consideration,  that,  since  all  men  acknowledge  that 
their  various  faculties  sometimes  do  deceive  them, 
a  means  of  distinguishing  the  cases  in  which  they 
do  and  in  which  they  do  not  is  needed ;  that  is  to 
say,  each  faculty  must  have  its  own  criterion  of  truth, 
and  we  must  be  acquainted  with  this  criterion.  For, 
I  repeat  it,  if  there  are  no  certain  signs  by  means 
of  which  we  can  determine  that  our  faculties  do  not 
deceive  us,  then  neither  can  we  know  that  they  ever 
do  deceive  us,  or  even  that  they  can  deceive  us. 

But  is  that  which  is  apparently  true,  really  so  ? 
Is  there  any  criterion  in  fact  ?  I  answer,  yes, 
undoubtedly  there  is,  for  every  man  in  his  sound 
senses.  There  may  be,  and  probably  are,  among  my 
hearers,  many  who  have  never  studied  the  rules  for 
the  direction  of  our  faculties  prescribed  by  logic; 
but,  I  ask,  does  such  a  one,  supposing  that  he  is 
anxious  and  interested  to  gain  certain  information, 
doubt  at  all  whether  he  is  capable  of  seeing  external 
objects  as  they  really  are  ?  And  yet,  who  now  will 
be  bold  enough  to  deny,  that,  in  very  many  cases, 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  231 

these  very  senses,  by  which  we  feel  so  sure  of  arriving 
at  an  accurate  knowledge  of  external  objects,  do, 
in  fact,  lead  us  into  error  ?  Every  one  present 
believes,  at  this  moment,  both  that  his  senses  have 
often  deceived  him,  and  yet  that  they  never  would 
deceive  him,  if  he  took  the  proper  precautions.  We 
all,  in  fact,  then,  already  do  know,  or,  in  times  of 
need,  do  instinctively  discover,  these  proper  pre- 
cautions ;  and  this  is  saying,  in  other  words,  that 
we  all  have  a  criterion,  by  means  of  which  we  do 
distinguish  the  testimonies  of  our  senses  which  merit 
confidence,  from  those  which  do  not. 

What  I  have  here  said  of  the  senses  may  be  said 
with  equal  truth  of  all  our  intellectual  faculties. 
No  one  present  doubts  his  capacity  to  discover  the 
true  consequences  of  any  principle,  when  he  is 
interested  in  so  doing,  and  bestows  upon  it  the 
proper  attention  and  care.  And  yet,  we  all  know 
that  we  can  and  do  deceive  ourselves  in  our  processes 
of  reasoning,  though,  at  the  same  time,  we  believe 
that  there  are  means  by  which  we  might  avoid  errors 
in  reasoning.  We  all  admit,  therefore,  that  there 
is  a  criterion,  by  which  we  can  separate  truth  from 
error  in  our  reasonings. 

And  thus  it  is  with  all  the  faculties  which  cooperate 
in  the  production  of  our  knowledge.  All  are  able 
to  distinguish  between  cases  in  which  a  faculty  has 
been  properly  exercised,  —  and  when,  therefore,  we 
may  feel  confidence  in  the  results  to  which  it  leads 
us,  —  and  those  in  which  it  has  been  improperly 
exercised,  —  when  we  can  feel  none,  and  when  it 
is  unreasonable  to  trust  it. 


232  JOUFFROY. 

And  a  yet  further  proof  that  we  do  actually  possess 
such  a  criterion,  is  the  fact,  that  we  are  applying 
it  every  moment.  When,  for  instance,  we  see  any 
object  at  a  great  distance,  do  we  feel  entire  con- 
fidence in  the  impression  received  through  the  eye? 
We  do  not,  and  for  this  reason  —  that  we  have  learned 
from  experience  that  the  eye  distinguishes  imperfectly, 
at  a  distance,  both  the  form  and  the  color  of  objects ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  we  know  the  means  of  satisfying 
ourselves  whether  the  notion  we  have  received  is 
correct  or  not ;  we  remove  the  opportunity  for  error 
by  lessening  the  distance  between  our  eye  and  the 
object.  Analogous  examples  might  be  cited  with 
regard  to  every  faculty. 

The  cause  of  our  faculties  deceiving  us  is  not 
the  want  of  a  criterion  to  distinguish  the  proper 
from  the  improper  exercise  of  them,  but  carelessness 
or  haste  in  not  using  or  in  misusing  this  criterion. 
We  have  a  confused  view  of  it,  and  do  not  use  all 
proper  precautions  for  arriving  at  the  exact  truth, 
except  when  we  have  great  interests  at  stake.  Philoso- 
phers have  therefore  spared  no  pains  to  describe 
precisely  every  criterion,  which  common  sense  sees 
indistinctly ;  and  it  is  in  this  chiefly  that  the 
great  discoveries,  which  have  been  made  in  logic, 
consist.  The  labors  of  Aristotle  in  this  branch  of 
philosophy  all  tended  to  the  one  point  of  determining 
the  true  criterion  of  reasoning  by  deduction  ;  that  is, 
the  distinguishing  sign  of  legitimate  consequences. 
And  what  is  this  ?  It  is  that  the  consequence  is 
one  actually  included  in  the  premises.  This  result 
may  seem  very  simple,  and  even  trivial ;  but  it  was 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  233 

only  by  a  most  laborious  analysis  of  all  forms  and 
possible  processes  of  reasoning,  that  this  great  man 
arrived  at  it.  And  again,  what  did  Bacon  accomplish 
in  logic  ?  He  determined  the  true  criterion  of  reason- 
ing by  induction,  and  this  was  all ;  though  it  cannot 
be  said  of  him,  as  of  Aristotle,  that  he  left  nothing 
to  be  completed  by  his  successors ;  for,  without 
question,  the  application  of  the  inductive  method, 
in  the  researches  of  two  centuries,  has  wonderfully 
perfected  Bacon's  incomplete  idea  of  the  conditions 
necessary  for  the  proper  mode  of  proceeding  in 
inductive  reasoning.  These  two  famous  logicians 
derive  their  distinction,  then,  from  the  fact,  that 
the  one  discovered  the  criterion  for  reasoning  by 
deduction,  and  the  other  the  criterion  for  reasoning 
by  induction  ;  and  yet  they  did  no  more  than  make 
clear  two  indistinct  ideas,  which  had  always  before 
existed  in  the  common  sense  of  men.  The  criterion 
of  sensible  perception  and  that  of  memory  have  also 
occupied  philosophers.  You  are  acquainted  with  the 
noble  efforts  of  Malebranche,  of  Locke,  and  of  the 
Scottish  philosophers,  to  determine  the  laws  of  memory 
and  of  the  association  of  ideas ;  and  you  cannot  be 
ignorant  of  the  care  and  sagacity  with  which  so 
many  philosophers  have  analyzed  and  determined  the 
sources  of  error  to  which  all  our  senses  are  exposed. 
Now,  to  what  end  have  all  these  efforts  tended,  if  not 
to  the  establishment  of  the  precise  conditions  needed, 
in  order  that  memory  and  the  senses  may  communicate 
notions  worthy  of  credit?  Unquestionably,  this  end 
has,  in  a  great  measure,  been  attained  ;  and,  in  regard 
to  these  two  faculties,  it  may  be  truly  said,  that 


234  J*VFFR*Y. 

logical  science  is  very  nearly  perfect.  And  yet  the 
only  discovery  made  by  logic,  in  relation  to  them, 
is  a  knowledge  of  those  various  means  for  correcting 
memory  and  sensation,  which  men  naturally  employ 
in  all  cases  where  they  are  deeply  interested.  So 
that  philosophy  has  done  no  more  in  this  matter 
than  simply  to  make  clear  the  notions  which  had 
always  existed,  though  obscure,  in  common  human 
intelligence. 

So  far,  then,  from  its  being  true,  as  skeptics  assert, 
that  human  intelligence,  subject  as  its  faculties  are 
to  error,  has  no  means  of  distinguishing  truth  from 
error  in  the  multitude  of  its  impressions,  —  so  far 
is  this  from  being  true,  that  we  have  proved  that 
there  are  such  means  for  correcting  every  faculty. 
We  have  proved  it  by  showing,  first,  that  all  men 
know  that  their  faculties  do  sometimes  deceive  them ; 
secondly,  that  all  men,  when  greatly  interested,  really 
discover  and  use  proper  precautions  for  arriving  at 
true  and  certain  results  in  the  use  of  each  and  every 
faculty;  and,  thirdly,  that  the  most  distinguished  lo- 
gicians have  actually  determined  the  precise  conditions 
required  for  such  certainty. 

You  will  have  remarked  that,  among  the  examples 
adduced  to  illustrate  the  point  which  we  have  been 
considering,  I  have  not  drawn  any  from  reason.  My 
motive  was,  simply,  that  reason  is  not  liable  to  be 
deceived ;  alone,  of  all  our  faculties,  reason  possesses 
this  prerogative,  and  it  is  owing  to  its  peculiarity 
of  acting  from  necessity.  Necessity  cannot  admit 
of  the  distinctions  of  more  or  less ;  and,  provided 
only  that  it  is  constantly  the  same  in  all  men,  it 


R9FVTATI«N    OF    SKEPTI9ISM.  235 

must  produce  similar  effects  in  each  individual,  under 
similar  circumstances.  And  to  this  it  is  owing,  that 
the  ideas  of  reason  appear  exactly  the  same,  in  number 
and  in  kind,  in  the  minds  of  all  human  beings,  and 
remain,  through  all  changes,  immutable. 

Hence  it  is,  gentlemen,  that  the  objection  has  never 
been  brought  against  reason,  that  it  is  different  in 
different  men,  or  in  the  same  individual  at  different 
times  :  there  is  no  such  ground  as  this  for  rejecting 
its  conceptions.  On  the  contrary,  the  great  argument 
of  the  skeptic  against  reason  is  drawn  from  the  ne- 
cessity and  immutability  of  its  judgments.  "See," 
they  say,  "  reason  admits  this  or  that,  because  it 
cannot  but  admit  it;  its  motive  for  believing  any 
thing  is,  that  it  is  impossible  to  disbelieve  it.  Is  not 
this  a  sufficient  proof  that  its  belief  is  imposed  upon 
it  by  its  nature,  and  that,  had  that  nature  been 
different,  the  belief  would  have  been  different  also?" 
This,  you  will  observe,  is  Kant's  great  argument : 
according  to  him,  the  conceptions  of  reason  have 
only  a  subjective  value,  because  they  are  necessary, 
and  thus  might  change,  if  the  subject  itself  was 
changed.  This  argument,  however,  is  plainly  the 
same  with  that  which  questions  the  veracity  of  our 
faculties  ;  and,  therefore,  we  pass  it  by  for  the  present. 

Since  the  variableness  of  its  conceptions  cannot 
be  brought  against  reason,  skepticism  finds  objections 
in  the  variableness  of  philosophical  views  of  these 
conceptions,  and  has  arrayed  against  its  authority 
a  twofold  argument,  drawn,  first,  from  the  systems 
which  have  denied  or  disfigured  these  conceptions; 
and,  secondly,  from  the  disagreements  among  them- 


236 


JOUFFROY. 


selves   of   the    philosophers    who    have    attempted   to 
classify  them. 

It  is  entirely  true,  gentlemen,  that  some  philosophers 
have  rejected  one  or  more  of  the  principles  of  human 
reason,  —  as,  for  instance,  Hume,  who  has  denied, 
as  I  have  shown  -you,  the  principle  of  causality,  and 
Condillac,  who  has  denied  that  of  substance,  and 
many  others  who  might  be  added.  But,  you  will 
remember,  I  have  proved  that  Hume  and  Condillac 
could  not  but  come  to  these  conclusions,  if  they  were 
consistent  with  their  own  systems.  The  objection, 
then,  is  without  force.  It  is  easy  to  bring  forward 
philosophers,  who  have  denied,  in  their  writings,  some 
one  or  other  principle  of  reason  ;  but  not  one  could 
be  found,  who  has  not,  at  the  same  time,  constantly 
proved,  by  his  conduct,  that  he  believed  in  them 
quite  as  much  as  other  men. 

The  objection  drawn  from  the  disagreement  among 
philosophers,  in  their  attempts  to  classify  these  prin- 
ciples, is  equally  weak.  These  principles  are  facts  — 
the  facts  of  human  nature  —  and,  of  course,  the 
observation  of  them  is  as  liable  to  error  as  that 
of  any  other  class  of  facts.  Some  of  the  philosophers 
who  have  studied  them  have  seen  more  of  these  facts, 
others  fewer  —  some  more,  others  less  correctly ; 
hence  the  diversity  of  results.  The  diversity  will 
lessen  and  disappear  in  proportion  as  observations 
are  multiplied  and  made  more  exact;  and,  again, 
this  diversity  is  more  often  apparent  than  real,  and 
arises  chiefly  from  the  different  forms  under  which 
the  same  identical  principles  have  been  described. 
But,  however  this  may  be,  these  diversities  evidently 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  237 

affect  only  the  science  of  these  principles,  and  not 
the  principles  themselves,  which  are  and  must  remain 
identically  the  same  for  all  minds.  Where  is  the 
man,  who,  when  he  sees  any  thing  happen,  does  not 
instantly  suppose  that  there  was  a  cause  for  it ;  or, 
where  he  perceives  a  quality,  does  not  conceive  of  a 
substance ;  or  who  does  not  assign  to  every  object  a 
place,  and  to  every  event  a  time  1  These  notions  are 
so  essential  to  human  nature,  that  not  even  madness 
can  destroy  or  change  them.  The  insane  man  has 
this  in  common  with  all  mankind,  that  he  still  believes 
in  these  notions  ;  and,  in  this  respect,  still  remains 
a  man,  even  when  he  has  ceased  to  be  so  in  all 
others. 

Thus  much,  gentlemen,  I  have  thought  it  necessary 
to  say  of  the  general  objection  of  skepticism,  deduced 
from  the  variableness  of  the  faculties  of  intelligence. 
As  this  charge  cannot  be  brought  against  reason, 
which  is  immutable,  it  can  extend  only  to  observation, 
reasoning,  and  memory ;  and  I  have  shown,  even  if 
it  is  true  that  these  are  fallible,  that  we  are  still 
capable  of  distinguishing  truth  from  error,  in  their 
communications.  This  objection  against  the  certainty 
of  human  knowledge  is  thus  shown  to  be  without 
force ;  and  it  is  proved,  therefore,  that  we  can  arrive 
at  truth,  if  our  faculties  are  only  so  organized  as  to 
see  things  as  they  really  are,  and  not  to  transmit  to 
us  false  images.  Let  us,  then,  return  to  the  con- 
sideration of  this  last  objection ;  and,  having  thus 
driven  skepticism  behind  its  last  intrenchment,  let 
us  try  its  strength. 

I   hasten   to   say,    then,   that   I   know   no   positive 


238  JOUFFROY. 

answer  to  this  objection  of  the  skeptic :  there  can  be 
no  proof  possible  of  the  veracity  of  our  intelligence. 
And  yet  this  objection  is  a  remarkable  one,  and  de- 
serves consideration. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  you  will  please  to  observe, 
that  they  even  who  are  most  swayed  by  this  objec- 
tion, pay  no  regard  to  it  in  practice.  A  philosopher 
may  very  well  conceive  that  there  is  no  proof  that 
God  has  not  so  constituted  his  intelligence,  as  to  see, 
instead  of  the  reality,  something  quite  different  from 
it;  and  yet,  whenever  an  object  is  presented  to  his 
eyes,  he  will  believe  in  the  fidelity  of  the  impression 
received  through  them ;  or,  if  his  memory  suggests 
that  he  has  promised  to  dine  with  a  friend,  he  will 
go ;  or,  if  a  threatening  sound  strikes  his  ear,  he  will 
avoid  the  danger.  There  never  was  a  skeptic  who 
escaped  such  inconsistencies,  or  who  did  not  fall  into 
them  a  thousand  times  each  day  ;  and,  however  strong 
his  reasons  for  doubt,  he  will  yet  believe  as  firmly  as 
the  most  determined  dogmatist. 

In  the  next  place,  please  to  consider  whether  there 
is  any  way  in  which  an  intelligent  being  could  be 
organized  so  as  to  avoid  this  objection.  If  this  being 
is  to  be  intelligent,  he  must,  of  course,  be  capable 
of  knowledge  ;  and,  that  he  may  be  capable  of  it, 
he  must  have  faculties  fitted  to  acquire  knowledge. 
An  intelligent  being  could  be  organized  in  no  other 
way.  Now,  being  rational,  he  will  remark  that  he 
has  faculties,  and  that  these  faculties  form  part  of 
one  individual  organization,  and  that  they  are  them- 
selves individual  ;  and,  at  once,  this  very  objection 
of  the  skeptic  arises,  that,  if  they  had  been  differently 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  239 

constituted  they  might  have  given  him  very  different 
notions  of  things.  Indeed,  so  inherent  is  the  possibility 
of  such  an  objection,  in  the  very  nature  of  an  intelli- 
gent being,  that  we  cannot  admit  the  thought  that  even 
the  Deity  himself  is  secure  from  it,  except  when  we  re- 
flect that  we  can  form  no  adequate  idea  of  his  nature ; 
for,  if  we  take  the  highest  idea  we  can  form,  and  repre- 
sent to  ourselves  the  Deity  as  an  intelligent  being,  who 
acquires  knowledge  by  the  use  of  a  faculty  for  know- 
ing, we  cannot,  by  any  possibility,  escape  from  the 
conclusion  that  he  might  experience  this  very  doubt, 
urged  by  the  skeptic  against  our  faculties.  Such 
observations  may  suffice  to  show,  that,  even  if  this 
objection  cannot  be  refuted,  it  yet  does  not  merit  the 
serious  consideration  of  a  philosopher.  We  can 
know  nothing,  and  can  learn  nothing,  except  by  using 
the  intelligent  faculties  with  which  we  are  endowed ; 
the  first  truth,  which  any  man  who  would  learn  and 
know,  must  recognize,  is,  that  his  faculties  see  things 
as  they  really  are ;  for,  otherwise,  he  must  renounce 
all  learning  and  knowledge ;  science  becomes  impos- 
sible, and  research  vain. 

This  is  the  only  answer  that  can  be  made  to  the 
one  irrefutable  argument  of  skepticism. 

As  to  the  causes  of  error  which  are  derived  from 
the  imagination,  the  passions,  education,  and  preju- 
dice, and  from  the  desires  and  propensities  of  the 
body,  they  are  all  well  known,  and  such  as  every  man 
is  aware  he  must  guard  against.  The  precautions, 
which  must  be  taken  in  order  that  our  faculties  may 
be  preserved  from  their  influence,  are  recognized  uni- 
versally as  conditions  for  the  legitimate  exercise  of 


240  JOUFFROY. 

our  faculties,  and,  consequently,  for  the  legitimacy 
of  the  knowledge  acquired  by  them. 

Independently,  however,  of  these  causes,  which  tend 
to  disturb  the  regular  exercise  of  our  intelligence,  it 
is  said  that  the  intelligent  subject  itself  is  variable ; 
that  it  is  modified  by  age,  and  changes  from  year  to 
year,  and  from  day  to  day ;  and  that  it  is  not  from 
one  moment  to  another  the  same.  I  reply,  that  we 
must  make  a  distinction  here.  It  is  true,  that  our 
body,  like  all  bodies  whatever,  does  undergo  perpetual 
alterations,  and  does  each  moment  receive  or  lose 
something,  and  is  not  identically  the  same  for  two 
successive  moments.  Still  the  properties  of  its  differ- 
ent organs  remain  the  same,  amidst  this  continual  flux 
of  the  particles  of  which  its  substance  is  composed. 
But  it  is  not  the  body  that  has  the  capacity  of  knowing, 
but  the  mind,  or  that  which  we  call  ourselves,  our 
me.  Now  the  me  declares  itself  identically  the  same 
at  every  moment  of  existence ;  and,  if  any  one  should 
be  inclined  to  deny  this  identity,  he  would  immediately 
be  conducted  to  such  absurd  consequences  as  must 
convince  him  that  all  the  facts  of  human  nature 
imply  this  absolute  identity,  and  are  inexplicable  with- 
out it. 

It  is  true,  these  very  variations  of  our  body  exert 
an  important  influence  upon  the  mind ;  but,  then, 
they  are  classed  among  the  causes  of  error,  and  every 
sensible  man  takes  heed  of  them  when  he  would 
acquire  accurate  knowledge.  The  young  man  is 
aware  that  his  age  is  liable  to  passions  which  may 
mislead  his  judgment,  and  which  incline  him  to  a 
precipitancy  and  a  self-confidence  unfavorable  to  the 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  241 

pursuit  for  truth ;  and  we,  on  our  part,  in  consulting 
the  judgment  of  youth,  take  into  consideration  these 
sources  of  error,  and  estimate  their  influence. 

I  have  now  done  with  the  skeptical  objections  de- 
duced from  the  nature  of  the  subject  of  knowledge ; 
and  I  hasten  to  those  which  originate  in  the  nature 
of  the  object  of  knowledge,  and  of  knowledge  itself. 

I  have  but  a  word  to  say  of  the  former.  It  is  un- 
questionably true,  that  every  external  object  is  con- 
stantly varying.  But,  observe,  it  is  not  what  is  variable 
that  interests  us,  or  that  is  the  object  of  science.  It 
is  the  substance  of  beings  which  changes ;  but  science 
seeks  to  become  acquainted  rather  with  their  specific 
nature,  which  is  permanent,  and  remains  unchanged 
in  all  essential  characteristics. 

This  is  not  saying  that  the  nature '  of  beings  is 
incapable  of  change ;  but  the  change  is  a  regular 
one.  This  change,  in  other  words,  is  subject  to  laws, 
and  it  is  these  laws  which  science  seeks  to  learn. 
This  is  true,  not  only  of  single  beings,  but  of  the 
whole  creation ;  it  remains  the  same,  notwithstanding 
the  eternal  movement  that  agitates,  and  alters,  and 
modifies,  incessantly,  all  its  parts  —  a  movement  regu- 
lar, and  subject  to  fixed  and  immutable  laws.  And 
it  is  this  immutable  form  of  the  universe,  and  the 
immutable  laws  of  life  animating  it,  which  science 
seeks  to  determine  and  know :  these  never  chancre. 

O 

Science  is  not  interested  in  the  unceasing  flux  of 
phenomena,  forever  passing  throughout  creation ;  for 
this  is  transient,  and  the  transient  is  indifferent  to 
her.  Thus,  even  if  the  skeptic's  objection  is  founded 
in  truth,  it  still  does  not  affect  science,  because  it  does 
VOL.  i.  v 


212  JOUFFROY. 

not  extend  to  that  which  is  really  the  object  of  science. 
And  this  is  enough  to  show  you  the  weakness  of  all 
skeptical  arguments  drawn  from  this  main  one. 

Of  objections  brought  against  knowledge  itself,  the 
first  consists  in  saying  that  the  idea  which  knowledge 
gives  us  of  the  reality  must  be  unworthy  of  confi- 
dence, because,  when  compared  with  its  object,  our 
"knowledge  is  so  very  incomplete. 

To  this  I  reply,  if  it  is  true  that  our  faculties,  when 
legitimately  and  rightly  used,  do  see  things  as  they 
really  are,  it  is,  then,  also  true,  that  the  knowledge 
communicated  by  them,  is  a  faithful  representation  of 
whatever  portion  of  real  being  they  observe ;  and,  there- 
fore, the  only  charge  which  can  be  brought  against 
our  knowledge,  is  its  incompleteness.  If,  indeed,  we 
then  proceed  to  draw  from  this  fragment,  of  which  we 
have  acquired  knowledge,  rash  inductions  :as  to  the 
whole  of  real  being,  we  may  easily  fall  into  error  ; 
but  the  knowledge  of  the  portion  observed  by  our 
faculties  will  remain  as  true  as  before  ;  and  this  only 
can  be  said,  that  we  have  reasoned  badly,  and  drawn 
from  certain  premises  conclusions  which  they  did 
not  contain.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  we  are  in- 
capable of  reasoning  correctly,  because  we  can  and 
do  sometimes  reason  incorrectly.  If  we  draw  from 
the  minute  portion  of  real  being  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted with,  rigorous  inductions  only  as  to  the 
whole,  the  notions  arrived  at  will  be  exact.  True,  these 
notions  will  still  remain  incomplete ;  but  the  dogmatist 
nowise  pretends  that  human  knowledge  is  complete; 
he  asserts  only  that  it  is  faithful  and  trustworthy. 

The  second  reason  for  doubt,  found  by  the  skeptic 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  243 

in  the  nature  of  knowledge  itself,  is  drawn  from  the 
consideration  that  human  opinions  are  so  different  in 
different  eras,  places,  nations,  individuals.  To  give 
a  thorough  refutation  of  this  objection  would  be  an 
endless  task.  I  must  limit  myself  to  a  few  rapid 
observations. 

I  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  this  diversity  of 
opinion  is  far  from  extending  to  all  subjects.  If  any 
one  would  undertake  to  draw  up  a  counterpart  to  the 
picture  presented  by  the  skeptic,  I  am  perfectly  sure 
that  the  catalogue  of  opinions,  held  in  common  by 
all  mankind,  would  form  a  far  more  large  and  valuable 
volume  than  the  lists  so  often  begun  by  skeptics  of  opin- 
ions upon  which  men  differ.  What  would  have  become 
of  the  human  race,  indeed,  if,  upon  points  where  it  is 
important  to  have  certain  knowledge,  opinions  had 
been  forever  undetermined  as  to  what  is  true  or  false. 
The  truth  is,  human  opinion  has  never  hesitated  nor  al- 
tered in  relation  to  those  facts  of  the  external  world,  or 
of  human  nature,  and  of  their  respective  laws,  which  it 
is  most  important  we  should  know.  Do  you  ask  why  ? 
Because  the  human  race  could  have  continued  in 
existence  on  no  other  condition.  And  do  you  know 
that  this  part  of  human  knowledge,  representing  the 
notions  held  in  common  by  all  mankind,  of  all  and 
every  age,  is  so  very  large,  that  the  part  representing 
those  about  which  they  differ,  becomes,  in  comparison, 
imperceptible  1  Do  you  inquire,  now,  why  this  prin- 
cipal and  most  important  part  of  knowledge  is  so  little 
noticed,  and  why  it  plays  so  small  a  part  on  the  theatre 
of  philosophical  discussions  1  It  is  because  it  is  so 
essential  to  man,  and  so  constantly  employed  by  him, 


244  JOUFFROY. 

that  it  becomes  confounded  with  human  nature  itself; 
it  is  because  we  acquire  it  so  early,  and  because  we 
find  it  already  formed  and  established  in  us  when  we 
first  begin  to  reflect,  and  because,  therefore,  it  appears 
to  us  as  if  we  never  had  acquired  it.  It  is  that 
treasure,  stored  up  for  the  future  man,  by  the  incred- 
ible activity  of  the  young  mind,  in  those  first  years, 
which,  though  to  the  careless  observer  they  may  seem 
a  mere  dream,  are  really  the  most  fruitful  in  results 
of  any  in  existence — a  rare  treasure,  indeed,  gentle- 
men ;  for  it  is  with  these  ideas,  common  to  every 
individual,  that  men  understand  themselves  and  each 
other ;  they  constitute  us  men,  and  therefore  is  it 
that  we  do  not  notice  them.  The  ideas  which  attract 
our  attention  are  those  upon  which  we  differ.  And 
how  admirable  is  this  provision !  For  to  those  alone 
which  are  uncertain  need  we  direct  our  attention. 
Hence,  however,  comes  the  illusion,  which  leads  us 
to  consider  these  opinions  as  the  whole  of  human 
knowledge,  and  which  makes  us  believe,  in  conse- 
quence, that  knowledge  is  uncertain ;  and  this  illusion 
must  be  kept  distinctly  in  view,  if  we  would  estimate 
the  true  force  of  the  skeptical  argument. 

But  the  diversity  and  mutability  of  human  opinions, 
when  thus  limited,  by  no  means  lead  to  such  conse- 
quences as  skeptics  pretend.  They  are  to  be  explained 
by  causes  wholly  different  from  that  want  of  power  in 
the  intellect  to  see  the  truth,  which  the  skeptic  assigns 
as  the  reason. 

The  fallibility  of  intellect,  gentlemen,  is  one  cause. 
In  every  case  there  can  be  but  one  truth,  while  there 
may  be  numberless  errors.  It  is,  then,  possible  that 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  245 

we  may  be  deceived  in  a  thousand  ways  about  every 
thing;  and,  on  the  supposition  that  intellect  is  fallible, 
a  thousand  different  errors  —  that  is  to  say,  different 
opinions  —  are  possible;  but  does  it  follow,  from  this 
variety  of  opinions,  that  truth  cannot  be  discovered  1 
or,  when  once  found,  that  it  cannot  be  separated 
from  the  errors  with  which  it  is  combined?  Not 
at  all  -  as  a  thousand  instances  testify.  How  many 
truths  have  been  discovered  and  recognized,  after 
countless  false  systems  had  been  proposed  and  refuted ! 
Who,  indeed,  would  ever  pursue  a  science  at  all, 
unless  his  studies  tended  to  this  result  ? 

The  laws  which  govern  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
are  another  cause  of  the  variety  of  opinions  among 
men.  God  has  not  endowed  us  with  the  prerogative 
of  attaining  truth  at  once ;  we  reach  it  only  by  a 
gradual  progress,  and  successive  steps  —  only  by 
acquiring,  in  repeated  efforts,  its  several  elements. 
Human  knowledge  cannot  be,  and  should  not  be, 
immutable.  Each  new  discovery  augments,  and  con- 
sequently modifies,  science ;  and  this  is  true  at  once 
of  every  department,  and  of  the  whole  of  knowledge. 
No  opinion,  no  truth,  then,  is  definitive,  for  it  is  not 
complete.  And,  since  nations  and  individuals  have 
advanced  to  different  stages  in  this  common  progress 
towards  truth,  the  diversity  and  mutability  of  human 
opinions  are  readily  explained.  Such  an  identity 
and  perpetuity  of  human  opinion,  as  is  demanded 
by  the  skeptic,  would  be  nothing  less  than  the  equality 
and  immutability  of  all  human  intelligence. 

In  addition,  it  may  be  said  that  there  is  one  other 
most  fruitful  source  of  illusion  in  this  matter;  and 

V2 


246  JOUFFROY. 

it  is,  that  the  variety  of  forms  in  which  ideas  are 
expressed  is  often  supposed  to  be  a  variety  in  the 
ideas  themselves.  Who  does  not  know  that  the 
same  religious  or  political  dogmas  are  often  found 
prevailing  under  forms  the  most  apparently  diverse  ? 
Who  does  not  know,  for  example,  how  various  are 
the  modes  by  which  the  grand  article  of  faith,  a 
belief  in  a  Deity,  has  been  professed,  in  different 
ages  and  countries?  Viewed  in  the  light  of  this 
remark,  this  phantom  of  diversity  in  human  opinion 
subsides  into  quite  moderate  dimensions. 

Indeed,  there  is  nothing  at  all  wonderful  in  this 
variety  of  human  opinions,  if  we  consider  the  con- 
ditions to  which  intelligence  is  subject,  and  the  laws 
of  the  formation,  progress,  and  development  of  knowl- 
edge. In  proportion  as  we  more  thoroughly  under- 
stand the  true  laws  of  our  faculties  can  we  better 
explain  the  progress  of  the  human  mind,  and  the 
various  errors  through  which  it  has  passed.  As  soon 
as  men  discovered  the  true  mode  of  proceeding  in  the 
investigation  of  physical  science,  it  was  at  once  seen 
most  clearly  why  antiquity  had  erred,  and  necessarily 
erred.  Hypothesis  preceded  observation  in  these 
pursuits,  and  various  hypotheses  were  successively 
proposed  and  adopted,  because  it  could  not  but  be 
that  such  hypotheses  should  seduce  the  mind  of  man, 
and  be  tried ;  and  the  hypothetical  method  finally 
gave  way  to  the  method  of  observation,  because  the 
proper  time  for  it  had  come.  The  change  of  human 
opinions  in  this  respect  was  the  necessary  consequence 
of  the  laws  of  the  human  mind,  and  not  a  sign  of  its 
incapacity  of  arriving  at  truth. 


REFUTATION    OP    SKEPTICISM.  247 

I  will  close  this  lecture,  already  too  much  pro- 
longed, with  one  more  observation  upon  the  system 
of  skepticism.  Is  there,  I  ask,  at  the  present  day, 
any  one,  who  refuses  to  believe  in  the  truths  which 
have  been  discovered  in  physical  and  mathematical 
science?  If  these  truths  are  not  doubtful,  if  they 
are  worthy  of  credit,  then  it  is  plain  that  the  faculties 
of  human  intelligence  are  capable  of  acquiring  truth. 
They  are  not  by  nature  deceptive,,  therefore,  or  in- 
competent to  distinguish  truth  from  error.  If  the 
authority  of  these  faculties  is  acknowledged  in  one 
exercise  of  their  power,  then  must  it  be  acknowledged 
in  all;  and,  if  denied  at  all,  in  any  case,  then  is 
all  faith  impossible.  In  other  words,  there  can  be 
no  half-skepticism,  nor  half-dogmatism.  He  who 
would  be  a  skeptic,  in  our  day,  must,  if  he  would 
be  consistent,  consider  mathematical  and  physical 
truths,  as  well  as  all  others,  chimerical.  Skepticism, 
which  once  occupied  so  prominent  a  position  in 
philosophy,  has  gradually  withdrawn  ;  and,  from  rest- 
ing on  those  arguments  so  much  used  by  antiquity, 
though  now  refuted,  it  finds  itself  driven,  in  modern 
times,  to  take  refuge  in  the  simple  metaphysical  doubt 
as  to  the  veracity  of  our  faculties  —  an  impregnable 
position,  it  is  true,  but  one  where  it  does  not  and 
cannot  exert  any  actual  influence  on  the  human 
mind. 


248  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    X. 


GENTLEMEN, 

WE  have  now  completed  the  discussion  of 
systems  which  destroy  the  basis  of  morality  by  reason- 
ings not  drawn  from  the  facts  of  human  nature,  and, 
according  to  my  original  plan,  I  propose  to  pass  next 
to  a  second  class  of  systems,  which  lead  to  the  same 
result  through  an  incomplete  and  false  analysis  of 
these  facts.  But,  after  what  has  been  said  in  the 
two  last  lectures  on  the  subject  of  skepticism,  I  have 
thought  it  might  be  useful  for  us  to  give  some  con- 
sideration to  what  may  be  called  the  skepticism  of  the 
present  age.  It  is  well  thus  to  characterize  it,  because, 
as  it  is  not  in  my  view  a  form  of  genuine  skepticism, 
this  distinctive  name  may  aid  us  in  acquiring  a  correct 
and  precise  view  of  the  actual  moral  condition  of 
our  era. 

Skepticism,  gentlemen,  is  a  disposition  in  the  mind 
to  admit  nothing  as  worthy  of  belief;  a  disposition 
produced  by  such  a  view  of  our  means  for  acquiring 
truth  as  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  we  are  incom- 
petent to  attain  to  any  certain  knowledge.  Such 
is  skepticism,  strictly  defined ;  and  to  such  skepticism 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OP   THE    PRESENT    AGE.         249 

I  will  give  the  name  of  absolute  skepticism,  to  distin- 
guish it  from  another  state  of  mind  also  called  skep- 
ticism, which  differs  from  it  entirely. 

The  state  of  mind  to  which  I  now  refer  may  be  seen 
in  any  person  who  is  without  a  faith  ;  and  yet  he  may 
be  wholly  wanting  in  the  characteristic  of  genuine 
skepticism,  a  determination  to  believe  nothing,  founded 
on  the  opinion  that  we  have  no  means  of  arriving  at 
certainty.  A  person  may  be  without  a  faith,  simply 
because  he  does  not  know  what  the  truth  is  upon  the 
great  questions  of  human  interest,  and  not  at  all  be- 
cause he  admits  in  principle  that  the  human  mind  is 
incapable  of  attaining  to  truth.  Let  us  call  this  state 
of  mind  actual  skepticism,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
disposition  to  believe  nothing,  which  I  have  named 
absolute  skepticism. 

Keeping  in  mind  this  distinction,  we  shall  see  at 
once  that  the  mass  of  mankind  can  never  be  absolute 
skeptics.  They  have  not  the  information  and  leisure 
requisite  for  such  an  analysis  of  the  phenomena  of 
knowledge,  as  would  lead  to  the  conviction  that  the 
human  mind  is  incapable  of  arriving  at  truth.  The 
world  has  never  yet  seen,  and  for  ages  at  least  never 
will  see,  a  whole  people  penetrated  with  such  a  convic- 
tion, and  possessed  by  such  a  skepticism.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  actual  skepticism,  or  a  simple  want  of  faith 
from  mere  ignorance  of  the  truth  upon  important  ques- 
tions, may  very  easily  prevail  among  the  mass  of  a 
people ;  though  even  this,  the  only  kind  of  skepticism 
to  which  they  are  liable,  is  always  repugnant  to  them. 

Among  the  various  considerations  from  which  abso- 
lute skepticism  arises,  there  is  but  one  that  can  to  any 


250  JOUFFROY. 

great  degree  be  felt  by  a  whole  nation,  and  thus  intro- 
duce into  it  the  germ  of  genuine  skepticism.  This 
consideration  is  the  contradictory  and  variable  nature 
of  human  opinions.  But  it  is  only  the  better  informed 
who  are  liable  to  be  impressed  even  by  this  ;  for  to  rise 
to  a  view  of  human  opinion  as  contradictory  and  varia- 
ble, must  require  such  a  degree  of  historical  knowledge 
as  can  be  possessed  only  by  the  more  enlightened.  The 
people,  properly  so  called,  are  not  competent  to  this. 
I  add,  now,  that  this  truly  skeptical  view,  the  only  one, 
as  I  have  said,  which  can  penetrate  the  heart  of  a  peo- 
ple, is  always  a  traditional  and  transmitted  one,  and 
never  originates  in  the  spontaneous  action  of  the  people 
themselves.  In  every  instance  it  will  be  found  to  be  an 
impulse  communicated  from  the  philosophy  prevalent 
among  the  few,  who  consecrate  their  lives  to  thought 
and  reflection. 

True  skepticism  is  then  peculiar  to  men  who  reflect, 
whose  social  function,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  is 
thinking.  Absolute  skepticism  is  always  foreign  to  the 
mass.  The  skepticism  to  which  they  are  liable  is  ac- 
tual skepticism  ;  and  this  is,  as  we  have  seen,  not  a 
determined  disposition,  but  an  accidental  state  of  mind, 
consisting  in  a  simple  want  of  knowledge  as  to  what 
the  truth  is  upon  the  great  questions  of  human  interest. 

No  student  of  history,  gentlemen,  will  deny  that  there 
have  been  eras,  when  this  actual  skepticism,  this  want 
of  all  faith  and  conviction,  has  been  widely  spread 
throughout  the  mass  of  mankind ;  or  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, there  have  been  eras,  when  systems  giving  definite 
solutions  of  all  great  questions  have  prevailed.  History 
shows  us  states  of  society,  where  whole  nations,  from 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.         251 

the  child  who  has  not  begun  to  think,  to  the  old  man  on 
the  verge  of  life,  have  believed  firmly  in  certain  abso- 
lute dogmas;  and  it  shows  us  also  other  states,  where 
whole  nations  have  been  plunged  in  doubt  and  igno- 
rance as  to  truth.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  then,  there  have 
been  eras,  when  actual  skepticism  has  pervaded  the 
mass,  and  others,  when  it  has  been  unknown. 

History  assigns  to  these  different  states  of  society 
names  which  are  most  distinctive  of  their  peculiar 
characteristics.  She  calls  the  former  religious  eras,  the 
latter  irreligious ;  because  in  the  one  religion  has  pre- 
vailed, while  in  the  other  its  influence  has  been  want- 
ing. For,  observe,  a  system  of  faith  upon  the  great 
questions  of  human  interest,  established  on  the  common 
convictions  of  all  men,  of  the  enlightened,  and  of  the 
people  alike,  always  assumes  the  form  and  receives  the 
name  of  a  religion.  Thus  far,  in  the  world's  history, 
it  has  always  been  under  a  religious  form,  that  the  great 
ideas,  which  have  possessed  nations,  and  governed  and 
guided  them,  have  been  exhibited.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  eras,  where  the  mass  have  wanted  all  faith  and 
established  convictions,  have  been  those  in  which  reli- 
gious faith  was  annihilated,  and  where  no  religious 
doctrine  prevailed.  It  is  with  good  reason,  then,  that 
history  distinguishes  as  religious  the  eras  of  faith,  and 
as  irreligious  those  of  actual  skepticism. 

What,  now,  it  may  be  asked,  are  the  causes  of  this 
skepticism?  I  have  elsewhere  exhibited  them,  and 
they  are  at  the  present  day  well  known.  When  a  sys- 
tem of  faith  has  prevailed  among  the  mass  for  a  length 
of  time,  there  will  and  must  come  a  period,  sooner  or 
later,  when  the  errors,  which  are  intermingled  with 


252  JOUFFROY. 

even  the  highest  and  most  important  truth  in  all  hu- 
man opinions,  will  strike  the  minds  of  the  enlightened. 
Then  springs  up  a  spirit  of  critical  examination,  which, 
scrutinizing  the  whole  system  of  faith,  and  discover- 
ing its  various  imperfections,  ends  by  concluding,  that 
where  the  parts  are  so  defective,  the  whole  system  must 
be  unworthy  of  credit  in  an  advanced  stage  of  society. 
It  is  among  philosophers,  or  at  least  among  the  most  in- 
telligent members  of  society,  that  such  a  revolution  com- 
mences ;  and  it  is  among  them  that  it  is  carried  out  and 
completed ;  but  the  results  of  their  researches  penetrate 
all  classes,  and  finding  their  way  down  from  the  summit 
to  the  base  of  society,  reach  finally  the  mass,  where, 
sapping  and  ruining  all  convictions  and  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  truth,  they  produce  a  total  want  of  faith.  Such 
is  the  progress  of  actual  skepticism  among  the  people. 
It  is  a  result  of  a  foreign  and  superior  influence,  that  is, 
of  the  action  of  philosophers,  who,  summing  up  the 
knowledge  which  the  human  race  has  attained,  and 
comparing  with  it  the  prevailing  faith,  discover  and 
announce  that  this  received  system  is  not  on  a  level 
with  the  advanced  intelligence  of  their  age,  and  should 
therefore  be  rejected. 

That  we,  gentlemen,  at  the  present  day,  are  living  in 
such  an  era  is  so  evident,  that  few  would  be  inclined  to 
question  it.  How,  indeed,  can  it  be  denied  that  in 
most  minds  now  there  is  an  utter  want  of  faith  upon 
the  great  questions  which  interest  man?  And  yet,  in 
the  midst  of  this  actual  skepticism,  you  cannot  find  a 
shadow  of  absolute  philosophic  skepticism.  Indeed,  if 
you  could  penetrate  the  minds  of  the  mass,  you  could 
not  find  in  their  modes  of  thinking  any  one  of  the 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          253 

grounds  of  absolute  skepticism  even  so  much  as  sus- 
pected. The  people  do  not  trouble  themselves  with 
asking,  "  What  is  the  authority  of  the  human  faculties?" 
or,  "  What  is  the  nature  of  the  object  of  knowledge,  or 
the  nature  of  knowledge  itself?  "  They  are  utterly  igno- 
rant whether  the  nature  of  our  faculties,  of  the  object 
of  knowledge,  and  of  knowledge  itself,  are,  or  are  not, 
such  as  would  lead  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  mind  is 
incapable  of  arriving  at  truth.  The  mass  never  think 
of  this.  But  further  I  will  say,  that  even  in  the  more 
intelligent  portion  of  society,  in  that  portion  which 
thinks  and  reflects,  and  may  properly  be  called  the 
philosophic  class,  the  elements  of  absolute  skepticism 
are  hardly  to  be  found  at  all,  or  only  in  a  very  small 
degree.  Without  doubt,  in  our  age,  as  in  all  ages,  there 
are  minds  to  which  such  considerations  present  them- 
selves; but  the  incredulity  of  our  age  is  not  caused  by 
them.  The  cause  of  prevalent  incredulity  is,  simply, 
that  all  former  solutions  of  interesting  problems  have 
been  refuted,  and  that  no  others  as  yet  are  found.  Our 
age  is  not  so  much  skeptical,  as  it  is  wanting  in  faith ; 
it  does  not  believe  that  the  truth  cannot  be  discovered  j 
it  is  merely  ignorant  of  the  truth. 

The  revolution,  of  which  this  state  of  mind  is  the 
result,  had  its  origin  long  ago ;  it  dates  back  not  to  the 
political  revolution  of  1830,  nor  the  events  of  1814,  nor 
to  the  social  revolution  of  1789  ;  it  has  come  down  from 
a  much  earlier  age,  and  began  as  far  back  as  the  fif- 
teenth century.  I  say  as  far,  because  we  should  find,  on 
close  examination,  that  it  had  an  origin  yet  more  remote. 

In  this  revolution  there  have  been  two  distinct  peri- 
ods, each  having  its  peculiar  causes,  character,  and 
VOL.  i.  w 


254  JOUFFROY. 

results ;  ana  we  must  distinguish  these  periods  accu- 
rately, if  we  would  form  a  precise  notion  of  our  present 
situation. 

Before  this  want  of  all  conviction,  which  I  have 
described,  can  pervade  any  people,  there  must  have 
been  previously  a  conflict  of  longer  or  shorter  duration, 
but  still  a  violent  one,  against  the  dominant  faith. 
Every  such  revolution,  as  we  have  been  considering, 
has  necessarily  its  origin  in  a  period  of  warfare  with 
prevalent  opinions,  terminating  in  their  defeat  and 
overthrow.  Now,  in  the  present  instance,  a  controversy 
of  this  nature  has  been  continued  from  earlier  times  to 
our  own  day ;  and  it  was  indeed  the  striking  and  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
that  it  was  incompetent  to  finish  the  controversy  which 
had  been  transmitted  to  it.  The  eighteenth  century 
was  the  closing  scene  of  the  first  period  of  the  revolu- 
tion, in  the  midst  of  which  we  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury are  living ;  it  did  not  begin  this  revolution ;  it 
neither  discovered  nor  announced  its  leading  principles ; 
but  it  did  make  them  popularly  known,  and  did  dissem- 
inate their  results  through  society.  The  eighteenth 
century  acted  an  important  part,  therefore,  in  the  pro- 
gress of  this  revolution,  for  it  exhibited  plainly  to  all 
eyes  the  true  nature  of  the  controversy. 

In  this  first  period  of  the  revolution,  the  loss  of 
earlier  convictions  was  not  accompanied  with  a  desire 
of  another  faith  to  supply  their  place.  We  do  not  find, 
in  the  skeptical  writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  any 
longing  expressed  for  faith.  They  were  filled  with  a 
sense  of  the  work  of  destruction  which  they  were  com- 
missioned to  perform;  but,  so  far  were  they  from  being 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.         255 

conscious  of  a  desire  and  need  of  faith,  that  they  even 
rejoiced  and  triumphed  in  their  skepticism  as  in  their 
chief  title  to  honor.  We  have  reached  an  era  now,  how- 
ever, when  the  results  of  this  destructive  war  remain, 
without  the  joy  in  casting  off  belief  which  characterized 
the  last  century.  This  change  is  a  momentous  one,  and 
it  could  not  but  come.  It  is  not  in  our  nature  to  remain 
satisfied  without  light  upon  the  great  questions  of  human 
interest :  when  the  mind  has  once  lost  the  truth,  it 
must  seek  it  anew,  for  it  cannot  live  without  it.  It  is 
only  by  a  transient  illusion,  that,  in  the  earlier  period  of 
the  revolutionary  era,  rest  and  peace  are  sought  in  skep- 
ticism ;  no  sooner  is  victory  attained  than  the  illusion  is 
dissipated,  and  the  need  of  faith  again  is  felt.  Then 
begins  the  second  period  of  the  revolutionary  move- 
ment, a  period  in  which,  all  conviction  being  destroyed, 
the  desire  for  faith  is  once  more  felt  with  all  its  conse- 
quences. And  this  is  precisely  our  situation  at  the 
present  day ;  we  have  a  want  of  faith  and  a  longing  for 
it.  These  are  the  two  characteristics  of  our  age.  And 
our  actual  condition  in  all  its  detail  will  seem  perfectly 
intelligible,  and  even  such  as  he  might  have  predicted, 
to  any  one,  who  fully  comprehends  the  logical  conse- 
quences, of  these  states  of  mind.  Let  us,  then,  attempt 
to  follow  out  the  chief  of  these  consequences. 

The  striking  and  predominant  trait  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  gentlemen,  was  a  disposition  to  admit  nothing 
as  worthy  of  belief.  As  the  work  then  to  be  completed 
was  the  destruction  of  all  that  was  false,  the  tendency 
of  every  mind  was  to  skepticism.  But  now,  when  a 
desire  for  faith  coexists  with  a  want  of  all  conviction 


256  JOUFFROY. 

and  established  principle,  a  wholly  opposite  disposition 
has  been  developed,  even  a  disposition  to  believe  every 
thing;  and  this  disposition  to  believe  every  thing  is 
really  a  distinctive  characteristic  of  our  age,  often  as 
men  deceive  themselves  by  calling  it  a  skeptical  one. 

The  consequences  of  this  disposition  to  believe  every 
thing  have  been  different  in  different  minds.  Impelled 
by  the  common  want,  some  have  endeavored  to  repro- 
duce the  faith  of  past  ages;  and  this  was  natural 
enough,  because,  as  that  faith  had  already  once  received 
a  definite  and  complete  shape,  it  was  necessary  only  to 
readopt  it.  This  class  of  persons  have  pronounced 
their  anathema  against  the  three  last  centuries,  and  all 
that  they  have  accomplished,  especially  against  the 
eighteenth,  the  most  fatal  of  all  to  previously  established 
convictions.  Devotees  to  the  past,  they  admire  and 
honor  it,  and  seek  to  reestablish  in  their  rninds,  and 
rekindle  in  their  hearts,  that  faith  which  these  three 
centuries  have  extinguished.  Another  class  have  be- 
come utterly  discouraged ;  and  seeing  behind  them 
only  ruined  and  overthrown  convictions,  and  before 
them  an  empty  void,  they  have  given  up  all  hope  of  find- 
ing truth.  This  is  the  party  of  despair.  There  is  a 
third  class,  incomparably  the  largest,  who  are  waiting 
for  a  good  which  the  future  is  to  bring ;  they,  too,  feel 
the  want  of  faith,  but  they  neither  despair  of  finding  it, 
nor  do  they  seek  it  in  the  past,  —  they  look  for  it  to  the 
coming  time. 

It  is  natural  and  necessary  that  the  party  of  the  past 
and  the  party  of  despair  should  be  small  in  number  and 
in  influence ;  the  third  party  only,  which,  impelled  by 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    257 

common  want,  seek  to  satisfy  it  by  the  discovery  of  a 
new  moral  order  of  the  social  world,  can  hope  for 
success. 

This  movement  of  loving  and  seeking  for  a  new  faith 
has  introduced  a  new  period  in  the  revolution.  It  be- 
gan with  the  persuasion  that  the  faith  of  the  future 
must  be  directly  opposite  to  that  of  the  past —  an  illusion 
quite  natural  and  conformable  to  the  laws  of  the  human 
mind.  We  all  reason  thus  in  great  and  small  affairs 
alike ;  it  is  the  first  and  instinctive  movement  of  the 
human  mind.  This  reaction  produced  a  general  ten- 
dency to  the  opposite  of  what  had  already  been.  We 
had  been  living  under  an  absolute  government ;  we 
were  driven,  therefore,  to  the  opposite  of  such  a  govern- 
ment, that  is,  to  a  democracy.  The  philosophy  of  the 
Christian  faith  which  had  prevailed  was  eminently 
spiritual ;  a  material  faith  was  therefore  introduced  to 
reign  for  its  moment.  Art,  too,  under  the"  influence  of 
Christianity,  had  been  spiritual  and  ideal,  like  the  con- 
victions which  it  imbodied  ;  and  art,  therefore,  must 
become,  as  it  did  under  David,  first  material,  and  then, 
somewhat  later,  fond  of  the  actual,  and  even  of  the  de- 
formed. The  morality  of  a  Christian  era  had  been  a 
morality  of  devotedness,  of  self-sacrifice,  productive  of 
greatness  of  soul  and  character ;  the  morality  which 
followed  the  triumplrof  skepticism  was  that  of  pleasure 
and  self-interest.  Such  were  the  first  fruits  of  the 
reconstructive  impulse,  which,  setting  out  from  the  void 
that  doubt  had  brought,  rushed  into  the  opposite  of 
what  had  been,  with  frenzied  ardor.  The  necessary 
result  of  such  a  movement  was  to  produce  such  an 
exaggerated  and  unnatural  mode  of  thinking  as  could 


258  JOUFFROY. 

not  long  fail  to  awaken  disgust  and  dread.  And  for  this 
plain  reason ;  when  skepticism  succeeds  in  overturning 
a  system  of  faith  that  has  long  prevailed  over  any  large 
portion  of  the  human  race,  it  is  on  account  of  the  errors 
and  imperfections  of  that  system.  But  skepticism  is 
not  confined  to  these  errors,  and  does  not  limit  itself  to 
a  demand  of  their  rejection  ;  reasoning  from  the  parts 
to  the  whole,  it  pronounces  the  entire  system  false,  and 
the  generations  absurd  which  have  held  it.  Hence  the 
illusion  that  truth  will  be  found  in  what  is  exactly 
opposite  to  past  conviction.  Now,  it  is  impossible  that 
the  human  race  should  be  governed  for  ages  by  ideas 
which  are  wholly  false :  there  must,  then,  have  been  a 
large  portion  of  truth  in  any  doctrine  which  has  for  a 
length  of  time  been  generally  admitted ;  for  thus,  and 
thus  only,  could  it  have  acquired  and  preserved  its  as- 
cendency. To  throw  ourselves,  then,  in  our  desire  to 
reconstruct  a  faith,  headlong  into  the  very  opposite  of 
what  has  heretofore  been  believed,  is  necessarily  to  turn 
away  from  much  which  certainly  is  true,  in  the  search  of 
what  may  be  either  true  or  not.  Systems  which  origi- 
nate in  such  a  mad  movement  of  reaction,  are  destined 
always  to  disappear,  after  a  short  existence,  before  the 
good  sense  of  mankind.  And  thus  already  have  we 
seen  the  reign  of  materialism  and  deformity  disappear 
from  art.  And  in  literature,  also,  the  impassioned 
style,  which  has  overstepped  and  trampled  down  the 
rules  of  Aristotle  and  Boileau,  may  be  considered  as 
nearly  exhausted  and  soon  to  pass  away.  The  same 
movement  carried  us  from  the  old  political  regime  to 
extreme  and  unlimited  democracy  ;  but  already  has  this 
tendency  begun  to  be  most  seriously  and  severely 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OP    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          259 

judged  by  that  good  sense,  which  sees  at  once  its  in- 
conveniences and  excesses.  The  reign  of  materialism 
has  been  of  short  duration  ;  and  already,  in  the  hearts 
of  the  young,  at  least,  is  spiritualism  enthroned :  in- 
deed, it  would  be  difficult  to  find,  in  society  at  large, 
any  individuals  advocating  that  moral  code  of  mere 
pleasure,  which  was  openly  professed  by  the  most 
respectable  of  the  last  century.  It  appears  plain, 
therefore,  that  many  of  the  extreme  tendencies  of  the 
reaction  are  already  dead,  while  others  show  symptoms 
of  decay. 

The  systems  which  resulted  from  these  tendencies, 
were  thus  destined  to  be  short  lived ;  the  fruits  of  a 
blind  reaction,  they  were  blind  and  fanatical  them- 
selves. And  now  that  their  ephemeral  reign  is  ended, 
we  are  fast  falling,  and  have,  in  part,  already  fallen 
into  a  state  yet  worse  than  that  which  immediately 
succeeded  the  triumph  of  skepticism.  Then,  indeed, 
there  was  an  absence  of  all  faith,  but  there  was  not 
a  want  of  confidence  in  our  power  of  attaining  to 
truth ;  for  we  had  not  yet  tested  the  power  by  trial, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  be  easy  to  find  new 
solutions  of  the  problems  of  greatest  interest  to  man, 
in  place  of  former  ones,  which  were  destroyed.  But 
now,  when  the  first  efforts  of  reason,  in  the  examination 
of  these  questions,  has  failed,  —  now,  when  we  have 
seen  only  systems  invented,  so  foolish  as  to  deserve 
no  respect,  — doubt  arises  as  to  the  capacity  of  human 
intelligence  to  re-discover  the  truth  which  we  have 
lost ;  and  hence  a  more  profound  uncertainty  and  a 
deeper  consciousness  of  want  of  faith  than  was  felt 
at  first.  From  this  feeling  of  want  and  of  uncertainty 


260  JOUFFROY. 

have  originated  the  most  striking  peculiarities  of  the 
present  age. 

You  may  have  remarked  that,  when,  in  meditating 
by  yourselves,  or  in  conversation  with  others,  you  seek 
to  determine  what  is  beautiful  or  deformed,  true  or 
false,  good  or  bad,  you  meet  with  difficulties;  and 
that,  in  all  debates  upon  such  questions,  each  side 
seems  to  have  reasons  in  its  favor,  and  defenders ;  so 
that  it  actually  appears  as  if  arguments  for  and  against 
were  equally  strong  and  worthy  of  consideration. 

But,  gentlemen,  do  you,  therefore,  conclude  that 
this  is  the  natural  state  of  human  intelligence,  or  that 
these  are  phenomena  common  to  all  eras  ?  By  no 
means.  It  is  the  absence,  in  our  day,  of  any  criterion 
of  true  and  false,  of  good  and  bad,  of  beauty  and 
deformity,  which  produces  this  condition  of  things. 
As  all  first  principles  have  been  destroyed,  all  rules 
to  guide  the  judgment  have  been  abolished  also ; 
and,  without  a  common  rule  recognized  by  judgment, 
we  cannot  have  a  common  understanding  with  others, 
or  arrive  at  a  certain  solution  of  any  question.  And 
what  is  the  consequence  ?  Each  individual  will  feel 
that  he  is  free  to  believe  as  he  chooses,  and  will 
declare,  with  authority,  his  chosen  faith.  By  what 
test  shall  it  be  condemned  ?  By  that  of  some  grand 
truth  which  is  recognized  and  admitted  ?  There  is 
none.  By  the  authority,  then,  only  of  any  one  who 
disputes  his  opinion,  and  who,  as  he  is  his  equal, 
cannot  be  his  judge.  In  our  day,  individuals  reign 
supreme ;  their  authority  is  complete  and  unlimited. 
And,  as  the  right  of  each  individual  to  think  as  he 
pleases,  has  naturally  produced  an  infinite  variety  of 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          261 

opinions,  all  equal  in  worth  and  authority,  the  result 
is  that  state  of  complete  intellectual  anarchy  amid 
which  we  are  living.  On  the  one  side  is  the  unlim- 
ited authority  of  the  individual;  for  this  authority  is 
subject  to  no  common  faith,  no  admitted  criterion 
of  truth,  by  which  all  •.  minds  are  governed  and  di- 
rected, and  around  which  they  rally.  On  the  other 
side  is  an  infinite  diversity  of  opinion ;  for,  as  the 
authority  of  one  individual  is  equal  to  that  of  another, 
each  is  entitled  to  call  his  opinion  true.  Individuality 
and  anarchy,  then,  are  the  two  great  characteristics 
of  our  era ;  they  are  inevitable  in  the  present  age,  and, 
as  we  see,  they  every  where  prevail. 

One  further  circumstance  cooperates  to  establish 
this  state  of  intellectual  democracy.  It  is  experience 
which  chiefly  produces  inequality  between  men,  stor- 
ing, as  it  does,  the  minds  of  those  who  have  lived 
longest  with  the  greatest  variety  of  facts  and  ideas. 
But  it  is  the  tendency  of  eras  like  our  own  to  call 
in  question  this  incontrovertible  fact.  Succeeding 
to  long  ages  which  have  believed  in  what  is  now 
proved  to  be  false,  it  has,  and  cannot  but  have,  a 
contempt  for  the  past ;  the  past  is  to  it  the  symbol  of 
error ;  thus  far  it  thinks  men  have  known  nothing  and 
doubted  nothing ;  truth  is  to  be  sought  and  found 
in  the  future ;  the  more  attached  we  are  to  the  past, 
the  further  are  we  from  truth;  and  truth  is  nearer, 
the  more  we  live  in  the  future  and  the  younger  we 
are.  Hence  the  thorough  disdain  for  experience  and 
antiquity  which  marks  our  times.  The  young  man 
of  to-day  measures  himself  with  those  of  many  years ; 


262  JOUFFROY. 

and,  before  his  school  days  are  over,  the  boy  thinks 
and  declares  himself  equal  to  his  sire ;  and  this  state 
of  things  is  a  strict  and  necessary  consequence  of 
what  has  gone  before.  This  notion  of  the  equality 
of  minds  is  carried  so  far,  that  the  judgment  of 
eighteen  has  as  much  authority  as  that  of  fifty ;  and 
the  reasoning  of  a  day  laborer,  on  a  question  of  policy, 
is  considered  as  decisive  as  that  of  a  statesman  whose 
whole  life  has  been  passed  in  the  midst  of  public  affairs, 
or  of  a  student  grown  gray  in  thought.  Undoubtedly, 
the  good  sense  which  survives  the  greatest  aberrations 
of  human  intelligence,  will  moderate  this  intellectual 
democracy,  and  check  the  consequences  which  may 
be  seen  logically  to  flow  from  it ;  but,  though  checked, 
they  yet  more  or  less  appear,  as  if  to  make  mankind 
aware  of  their  tendencies. 

This  is  not  all,  gentlemen :  the  conviction  that  the 
past  has  been  deceived,  leads  to  a  disregard  of  the 
serious  study  of  historical  facts ;  and  the  conviction 
that  there  is  no  criterion  for  truth,  produces  a  con- 
tempt for  reflection ;  and  hence  results  a  profound 
ignorance,  which,  combined  with  presumption,  are  two 
characteristic  traits  of  the  present  intellectual  era. 
The  consequence  of  this  upon  the  literary  produc- 
tions of  our  time,  is  the  amazing  folly  with  which 
notions,  at  once  the  most  absurd  and  trite,  are  confi- 
dently thrown  out,  and  the  utter  want  of  all  such 
positive  knowledge  as  would  authorize  the  confidence. 
These  two  defects  are,  however,  but  the  necessary 
consequences  of  the  individuality  and  intellectual 
anarchy  which  disturb  us  :  they  are  the  natural  result 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          263 

of  our  present  situation,  which  is  itself  a  necessary 
period  in  the  revolutionary  movement  now  passing 
around  us. 

The  effect  of  the  various  facts  which  I  have  now 
been  describing,  is  a  general  weakness  of  character. 
Character,  indeed,  scarcely  exists  in  our  day,  and  for 
this  reason ;  of  the  two  elements  of  which  character  is 
composed,  —  firm  will  and  fixed  principles,  —  the  second 
is  wanting,  and  the  first,  therefore,  powerless.  For 
to  what  end  would  be  a  firm  will  without  fixed  prin- 
ciples ?  A  mighty  instrument,  doubtless,  but  a  useless 
one.  Governed  and  directed  by  strong  conviction, 
it  will  work  wonders  of  decision,  of  devotedness,  of 
constancy  and  heroism.  But  in  such  an  age  as  ours, 
without  established  faith  and  fixed  ideas,  and  without, 
moreover,  the  power  of  forming  them,  where  the  only 
authority  is  the  caprice  of  individuals,  who,  proud 
of  independence,  glory  in  deciding  in  every  case  for 
themselves,  how  can  such  a  will  exist  ?  He  who  has 
faith  is  proof  against  the  absurd  ideas  and  foolish 
imaginations  which  visit  even  the  soundest  mind : 
strong  in  his  convictions,  he  applies  them  as  a  test 
and  a  criterion ;  and  chimeras,  fancies,  and  inconsis- 
tencies disappear,  while  that  alone,  which  is  in  har- 
mony with  his  convictions,  remains.  But  we,  who 
are  without  faith,  want  this  criterion ;  and,  therefore, 
we  can  neither  judge,  approve,  nor  blame.  And, 
consequently,  as  a  fact,  we  neither  do  approve  nor 
condemn ;  we  accept  and  tolerate  every  thing ;  and, 
by  turns,  the  sport  of  wholly  opposite  opinions,  we 
are  wanting  in  well-ordered  purposes,  in  definite  plans 
for  conduct,  and  in  dignity  of  character.  What  I 


264  JOUFFROY. 

now  state  is  not  brought  forward  in  the  way  of  re- 
proach, but  as  a  matter  of  fact ;  our  age  is  what 
it  actually  is  by  necessity.  I  only  describe  and  ex- 
plain it. 

The  love  of  change,  gentlemen,  is  another  charac- 
teristic of  our  present  intellectual  condition.  Love 
of  any  kind  is  only  a  desire  for  something  which  we 
need ;  and  our  great  need  now  is,  of  those  truths 
which  may  restore  and  regenerate  individuals  and 
society ;  it  is  in  the  future  only  that  we  can  expect 
to  find  them.  Hence  our  age  is  looking  with  hope 
and  love  to  that  future,  and  gives  itself  up  cheerfully 
to  change.  We  seem  to  be  living  not  so  much  in 
the  present  as  in  the  future,  and  receive  each  novelty 
with  rapturous  enthusiasm}  as  if,  because  new,  it 
was  that  of  which  we  feel  the  want.  The  secret 
and  unconscious  longing  of  our  hearts  is  for  some- 
thing yet  untried,  as  if  it  alone  could  satisfy  our 
desires. 

Hence  that  indiscriminate  passion  for  revolution, 
which  makes  us  the  dupes  and  tools  of  each  adven- 
turer's ambitious  dreams,  and  renders  vain  the  sacri- 
fices and  the  cost  of  social  convulsion. 

For,  observe,  what  we  need  is  no  mere  outward 
change.  Let  society  pass  through  any  number  of 
outward  revolutions,  and,  unless  the  ideas  which  it  is 
in  want  of  are  thereby  supplied,  they  will  leave  it 
exactly  where  it  was,  and  will  be  wholly  useless. 
What  we  want  is,  an  answer  to  these  questions,  which 
Christianity  has  heretofore  answered,  but  which,  to 
many,  remain  unanswered  now ;  and  nothing  is  so 
ill  calculated  to  supply  this  want,  as  tumults  in  the 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.         265 

streets,  and  overturns  of  governments.  Reflection 
alone  makes  discoveries  in  truth,  and  peace  is  needed 
for  reflection.  Outward  revolutions  are,  indeed,  of 
service,  when  they  tend  to  realize  the  truths  which 
have  already  been  discovered ;  but  to  desire  revolution, 
when  the  truths  for  which  an  age  is  sighing  are  yet 
unknown,  and  as  a  means  for  discovering  them,  is  to 
commit  the  absurdity  of  wishing  that  the  consequence 
should  produce  its  principle,  or  an  end  its  means. 

This,  however,  is  the  very  thing  which  the  multi- 
tude does  not  see ;  it  is  so  deluded  as  to  expect,  from 
every  future  change,  that  new  and  unknown  something 
which  may  make  them  happy.  They  hurry  on  to 
revolution  with  blind  madness,  impatient  of  the 
present,  eager  for  the  future.  Before  this  torrent  of 
popular  passion  no  institution  can  stand,  no  govern- 
ment endure.  Hence  such  short-lived  popularity  as 
we  continually  see.  When  a  new  man  appears  in  the 
political  world,  we  greet  him  with  admiration  and 
honor.  Why?  Because  we  hope  that  in  him  we 
have  at  last  found  one  who  can  satisfy  our  wants. 
And  what  follows  ?  As  he,  no  more  than  we  our- 
selves, has  any  answer  for  the  problems  which  we 
wish  to  solve,  in  a  few  weeks  after  his  elevation  to 
power,  we  find  him  barren  and  empty  as  his  prede- 
cessors, and  at  once  his  popularity  declines.  In  our 
day,  in  fact,  the  mere  possession  of  power  is  reason 
sufficient  for  unpopularity.  They  only  are,  or  can  be, 
popular,  who  have  not  yet  acquired  the  power  they 
seek.  They,  as  yet,  have  not  uttered  their  secret ; 
and  the  moment  when  they  are  in  a  position  to  declare 
it,  and  when  it  appears  that  they,  like  the  rest,  have 

VOL.    I,  X 


266  JOUFFHOY. 

no  more  to  tell,  the  warm  favor  which  welcomed  them 
grows  cool,  for  the  illusion  which  made  them  great 
is  gone. 

From  what  has  now  been  said,  gentlemen,  you  can 
readily  perceive  the  cause  of  the  unhappiness  of  that 
collective  being,  called  a  government,  in  our  day. 
The  people  are  like  children,  who  feel  a  want,  and 
cry  to  the  nurse  for  something,  —  she  can  neither 
discover  nor  imagine  what,  —  and  which,  very  possibly, 
may  be  wholly  out  of  reach.  The  people  feel  a  pain- 
ful uneasiness,  but  they  know  not  its  cause ;  and  they 
complain,  therefore,  now  of  the  form  of  government 
under  which  they  live,  and  then  of  those  who  conduct 
it,  because  the  evil  which  they  suffer  from  is  not  rooted 
out.  They  forever  desire  to  substitute  other  men 
for  those  now  in  power ;  in  place  of  established  forms, 
they  would  have  new  ones;  and,  for  existing  laws, 
and  the  social  order  already  prevailing,  they  seek 
new  laws  and  a  new  order ;  persuaded  that  the 
source  of  the  evil  is  -in  the  government,  in  the  laws, 
in  the  organization  of  society,  and  that,  with  the 
change  of  these,  they  shall  find  what-  they  seek. 
But,  were  all  changed,  they  would  still  remain  as 
unhappy  and  discontented  as  at  first ;  for  the  changes 
they  desire  are  only  outward  and  material,  not  moral, 
while  it  is  a  moral  change  of  which  there  really  is 
a  need.  And,  as  long  as  the  desired  solutions  of 
these  questions  remain  unfound,  in  the  light  of  which 
society  is  to  be  remodelled  in  a  form  adequate  to 
the  wants  of  the  human  mind,  so  long  will  society 
continue  to  pass  through  a  constant  succession  of 
ineffectual  changes. 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    267 

Whence  arose  that  social  structure,  whose  foun- 
dations the  three  last  centuries  have  sapped,  and 
which  the  revolution  finally  overthrew?  It  arose 
from  the  solutions  which  Christianity  had  given  of 
the  great  problems  of  human  interest.  These  solu- 
tions, unlike  those  proposed  by  the  wise  of  our  time, 
were  not  negative  in  character ;  and  hence  the  results 
to  which  they  led  in  art,  religion,  and  politics,  were 
positive.  Institutions  and  laws  proceeded  from  them; 
organizations  and  forms  of  government,  social  and 
political  order,  were  wrapped  as  a  germ  in  these 
solutions ;-  and  this  order  has  been,  and  could  not 
but  have  been,  unfolded  in  past  ages.  At  the  present 
day,  this  order  is  destroyed ;  and,  to  produce  another 
in  its  room,  we  need  a  new  germ;  that  is  to  say, 
new  solutions  of  those  grand  questions  which  Chris- 
tianity has  heretofore  answered.  These  questions  must 
be  answered  before  either  individuals  or  communities 
can  be  reorganized,  and  reproduce  a  new  system 
of  life  and  conduct.  How,  indeed,  can  they,  who 
know  not  the  end  for  which  they  are  living  upon 
earth,  determine  the  manner  in  which  they  ought 
to  live?  And,  ignorant  of  this,  how  can  they  constitute, 
organize,  and  regulate  society?  If  we  know  not 
the  destiny  of  individuals,  we  cannot  know  that  of 
society ;  and,  if  we  know  not  the  destiny  of  society, 
we  cannot  organize  it.  A  religious  and  moral  faith  is, 
then,  the  only  possible  solution  of  political  problems. 
We  have  not  such  a  faith ;  and  no  outward  revolution, 
therefore,  whatsoever,  can  accomplish  any  thing  for 
society. 

We   cannot   meditate   too    much    upon   these   con- 


268  JOUFFROY. 

siderations,  if  we  would  acquire  a  distinct  and  accu- 
rate view  of  the  present  state  of  things ;  for  here, 
and  not  elsewhere,  is  its  explanation.  But  the  people 
are  ignorant  of  their  true  condition,  and  their  blind 
and  generous  impulses,  therefore,  are  used  as  instru- 
ments by  ambitious  men.  Each  day  appear  a  crowd 
of  empirics,  who  promise,  on  the  single  condition 
of  being  raised  to  power,  that  they  can  supply  the 
want  of  which  all  are  conscious,  and  seek  in  vain 
to  satisfy.  The  intelligent  and  enlightened  see  that 
these  quacks  abuse  their  power;  but,  as  if  they  had 
really  found  that  unknown  something  for  which  all 
are  craving,  they  talk  of  republic,  of  unlimited  suffrage, 
of  legitimacy;  and,  seduced  by  the  word,  which  we 
mistake  for  a  thing,  we  passionately  pursue  the  untried 
good,  and  discover  our  mistake  only  when  experience 
has  proved  that  it  is  an  empty  name.  Thus,  again 
and  again,  we  give  new  names  to  the  unknown  good, 
and  chase  a  thousand  phantoms,  which  can  never 
satisfy  us,  but  will  forever  leave  us  discontented  as 
before.  Here  is  the  explanation  of  the  constant 
disappointments,  which,  for  forty  years,  the  friends 
of  social  liberty  have  experienced  in  France. 

By  turns,  each  new  form  of  freedom  has  seemed 
to  be  the  good  for  which  we  were  sighing,  and  a 
want  of  it  the  source  of  all  our  woes.  But,  when 
successively  we  have  acquired  them,  and  yet  found 
ourselves  unimproved  in  condition,  we  are  restless 
as  before;  and  a  revolution  is  scarcely  over,  when 
the  plan  is  sketched  for  a  new  one.  The  cause 
of  this  is  our  ignorance  of  our  own  condition.  These 
various  forms  of  civil  liberty,  which  we  have  been 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.  269 

struggling  for,  —  civil  liberty  itself,  even,  —  is  not, 
and  cannot  be,  the  end  which  society,  in  our  day, 
is  really  pursuing.  It  is,  indeed,  an  advantage  of 
free  communities,  that  no  master  can  turn  them 
from  the  pursuit  of  their  true  end,  and  impose  upon 
them  one  of  his  own  choosing ;  and  they  have  this 
additional  advantage,  that  they  are  better  fitted  than 
other  communities  to  discover  and  accomplish  their 
true  destiny.  In  this  twofold  aspect,  the  various  suc- 
cessive forms  of  civil  liberty  have  been  beneficial ; 
but  beyond  this  they  have  brought  no  good.  Liberty 
is  nothing  more  than  an  opportunity  offered  to  a 
people  of  accomplishing  its  destiny,  and  a  guaranty 
that  it  shall  not  be  hindered  from  so  doing:  liberty  is 
not,  in  itself,  the  accomplishment  of  that  destiny. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  order ;  and  it  is  plain,  there- 
fore, that  the  true  destiny  of  a  community  is  some- 
thing different  from,  and  superior  to,  both  liberty  and 
order. 

Do  you  doubt  this,  gentlemen  ?  Examine,  then, 
the  various  rights  which  we  now  enjoy,  and  see  if 
they  are  any  thing  more  than  opportunities  and 
means.  We  were  filled  with  a  passion  for  popular 
election,  and,  after  long  struggles,  secured  the  privi- 
lege ;  and,  in  consequence,  a  large  number  of  our 
fellow-citizens  now  take  a  part  in  the  appointment  of 
the  highest  public  functionaries.  And,  when,  at 
great  expense,  we  assemble  our  citizens  to  elect  those 
who  shall  command  the  national  militia,  or  become 
municipal  counsellors,  or  counsellors  of  departments, 
or  members  of  the  chamber  of  deputies,  what  do  we 
really  accomplish  1  Two  things.  In  the  first  place, 


270  JOUFFROY. 

we  give  a  pledge  that  no  individual  shall  be  allowed 
to  substitute  his  private  interests  for  those  of  his 
country,  or  to  prevent  the  nation  from  accomplishing 
its  destiny ;  and,  secondly,  we  intrust  to  the  assembled 
citizens  the  responsibility  of  determining  and  declar- 
ing what  measures  are  most  for  the  public  good,  or, 
at  least,  of  sending  to  the  various  national  councils 
men  who  can  decide  upon  them,  or  elect,  among 
themselves,  competent  persons  to  be  in  power.  Such 
are  the  reasons  for  which  popular  elections  are  valua- 
ble ;  but  of  these  two  results,  one  positive  and  the 
other  negative,  mere  election  attains  only  the  first ; 
it  really  does"  prevent  any  individual  from  using  the 
country  for  his  own  purposes ;  and  this  is  all  that  it 
can  do;  for,  if  the  electors  and  those  elected  are 
ignorant  of  what  constitutes  the  public  good,  it  is 
plain  that  our  wants  will  not  be  satisfied,  and,  there- 
fore, that  mere  liberty  of  elections  will  not  secure  the 
end  we  seek.  The  same  may  be  said  with  regard  to 
liberty  of  the  press,  and  all  other  civil  rights ;  so 
that,  however  desirous  we  may  be  of  obtaining  various 
forms  of  freedom  and  civil  institutions,  we  shall 
deceive  ourselves  greatly,  if  we  suppose  that  they  can, 
by  themselves,  afford  a  remedy  to  social  ills.  Forms 
and  institutions  are  but  pledges  and  protections  against 
whatever  threatens  to  impede  the  progress  of  a  moral 
revolution ;  and,  possibly,  they  may  be  a  means  also 
to  advance  it;  but  this  is  all  ;  a  moral  revolution  only 
can  cure  our  social  diseases.  I  say  that  the  exercise 
of  civil  right  may,  possibly,  be  a  means  of  advancing 
this  revolution,  because,  high  as  is  my  respect  for  the 
popular  mind,  I  yet  think  this  popular  mind,  this  cam- 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PllESENT    AGE.          271 

mon  sense,  rather  fitted  to  recognize  truth  than  to 
discover  it;  of  all  the  great  truths  which  have  influ- 
enced the  destinies  of  the  human  race,  I  know  not 
one  which  originated  in  the  instinct  of  the  mass ; 
they  have  all  been  the  discoveries  of  gifted  individ- 
uals, and  the  fruit  of  the  solitary  meditations  of 
thinking  men.  But  once  brought  to  light,  once  ex- 
hibited, and  it  is  the  adoption  of  them  by  the  mass 
of  the  people,  which  consecrates  them. 

What  has  now  been  said  of  our  present  moral 
condition,  will  sufficiently  indicate  the  course  of  con- 
duct which  every  wise  and  earnest  man,  is,  in  our 
era,  bound  to  pursue,  in  view  of  his  own  dignity  and 
the  interests  of  his  country. 

And  first,  it  is  his  duty  to  be  calm",  to  raise  himself 
above,  and  to  escape  from  the  chimerical  dreams  to 
which  the  mass  of  men  are  the  prey ;  and  thus  be 
preserved  from  the  delusive  and  absurd  schemes  which 
are  their  natural  result.  To  attain  this  state  of  mind, 
it  is  only  necessary  to  comprehend  the  universal  law 
of  revolution,  and  the  precise  period  of  the  revolution 
now  passing,  at  which  we,  in  this  age,  have  arrived.  If, 
in  what  is  going  on  around  us,  we  accustom  ourselves 
to  see  the  successive  phases  of  a  grand  law  of  hu- 
manity in  the  process  of  development,  we  shall  be 
less  disposed  to  abandon  ourselves  to  the  passionate 
fears  and  hopes,  to  the  ardent  attachments  and  aver- 
sions, which  every  new  party  and  event,  however 
trifling,  will  otherwise  awaken.  It  is  only  when  we 
regard  them  from  this  elevation  that  we  can  judge 
of  their  real  importance.  When  we  take  a  compre- 
hensive view  of  the  mighty  revolution,  which,  for 


272  JOUFFROY. 

the  three  last  centuries,  has  been  agitating  Europe, 
and  consider  its  sources  and  tendencies ;  when  we 
measure  what  has  been  accomplished  with  what 
remains  yet  undone ;  when  we  call  to  mind  the 
slowness  with  which  it  has  thus  far  advanced,  and 
with  which  it  is  destined  to  advance  in  the  time  to 
come,  and  then  conceive  distinctly  of  the  true 
nature  of  this  revolution,  and  the  end  at  which  it 
aims ;  —  how  trifling  appear  many  events  called  im- 
portant !  How  momentous  others,  at  first  sight  small ! 
Each  object  then  assumes  its  just  dimensions,  and 
the  illusions  and  passions  which  had  confused  the 
view  are  scattered,  even  if  they  do  not  wholly  dis- 
appear. 

For  those  who  live  in  the  future,  and  who  are 
seeking,  from  government  and  the  laws,  a  good 
which  no  individuals  can  bestow,  —  that  unknown 
and  mysterious  something  which  the  future  veils, — 
that  ineffable  ideal,  the  desire  of  which  prompts  each 
social  movement,  and  which,  for  myself,  I  call  a 
new  system  of  faith  on  the  grand  questions  which 
must  forever  interest  man,  —  for  all  such  persons, 
a  clear  understanding  of  the  nature  of  the  passing 
revolution,  and  of  the  precise  point  at  which  it  has 
now  arrived,  is  well  calculated  to  moderate  impatience. 
For,  when  we  once  comprehend  what  is  really  to  be 
accomplished,  we  see  that  it  cannot  be  done  in  a 
moment,  but  that  it  must  necessarily  be  the  fruit 
of  long  labor,  and  slowly  perfected  ;  and  that  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  institutions  or  laws  to  hasten 
the  fulness  of  time.  Past  history  bears  witness  that 
such  a  revolution  must  be  gradual.  A  state  of  society 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          273 

similar  to  our  own  prevailed  in  Greece  before  the 
introduction  of  Christianity,  and  was  brought  to  an 
end  by  that  event.  Skepticism  made  its  appear- 
ance in  Greece  six  centuries  at  least  before  the 
Christian  era  —  in  the  time  of  Thales ;  individuals 
of  enlightened  minds  had  already  begun  to  entertain 
doubts  of  the  prevalent  faith ;  and,  two  centuries 
later,  in  the  time  of  Socrates,  there  were  probably 
but  very  few  among  the  citizens  exercising  political 
rights,  who  were  not  wholly  given  up  to  incredulity. 
Socrates  was  condemned,  to  be  sure,  on  the  ground 
that  he  attacked  religion ;  but  his  sentence  was 
dictated  really  by  political  reasons;  and  we,  in  this 
day,  have  seen  a  parallel  instance,  in  a  neighboring 
country,  of  this  union  between  private  incredulity 
and  public  profession  of  faith.  If,  then,  the  ancient 
faith  in  Greece  was  destroyed  four  centuries  before 
the  coming  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  if  philosophy,  even 
at  that  early  period,  had  begun  to  seek  for  new  and 
higher  forms  of  truth,  it  is  plain  that  mankind  were 
kept  for  centuries  in  waiting  for  that  positive  faith 
which  could  alone  reorganize  it.  Yet  more ;  it  is 
well  known,  that  the  establishment  of  the  Christian 
religion,  in  'the  minds  of  the  common  people,  did 
not  immediately  follow  its  first  introduction ;  it  pene- 
trated to  them  only  by  slow  degrees,  and  centuries 
were  needed  to  complete  its  progress.  When,  then, 
we  attempt  to  measure  the  time  needed  to  perfect 
and  finish  this  former  revolution,  we  find  that  the 
human  race  was  occupied  for  nearly  a  thousand  years 
in  their  passage  from  paganism  to  Christianity.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  assert  that  the  human  mind, 


274 


JOUFFROY. 


with  the  immense  power  which  it  has  acquired  in 
the  course  of  eighteen  centuries,  will  require  so  long 
a  period  as  this  to  finish  the  work  which  it  has 
begun  in  our  day ;  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  think 
that  the  revolution  now  in  progress  is  to  lead  to 
any  such  complete  change  of  opinion.  Christianity 
has  too  strong  a  foundation  in  truth  ever  to  disappear, 
as  paganism  did ;  its  destruction  was  but  a  dream 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  never  will  be  realized 
But,  undoubtedly,  it  is  to  be  purified ;  undoubtedly, 
it  is  to  receive  new  forms  and  important  additions ; 
for,  otherwise,  the  strife  it  has  excited,  the  incre 
dulity  which  yet  prevails,  and  the  long  struggles  and 
labors  of  the  whole  of  Christendom,  have  been  without 
a  meaning  and  a  cause ;  and  this  it  is  impossible 
to  believe.  As  yet,  when  we  view  it  rightly,  this 
revolution  has  been  but  three  centuries  in  progress ; 
and  we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  imagine  that 
by  to-morrow  we  shall  reach  its  end  ;  neither  should 
it  astonish  us,  since  the  first  period  of  this  revolution 
has  so  lately  terminated,  that  we  have  now  arrived 
at  only  its  second  period.  Many  generations  may 
very  possibly  pass  away  before  the  faith  of  futurity 
will  assume  a  definite  shape,  and  be  planted  deep 
in  the  hearts  of  the  multitude,  to  bless  them  with 
the  Credo  for  which  they  now  sigh  in  vain.  And, 
during  the  intervening  period,  the  world  may  remain, 
as  in  ancient  times,  a  prey  to  that  state  of  intellectual 
and  moral  anarchy  which  we  have  described,  and 
which  nothing  but  the  manifestation  of  some  new 
form  of  faith  can  remove.  It  was  Christianity  that 
cured  this  evil  in  ancient  times ;  and  it  worked  a 


THE    SKEPTICISM   OF   THE    PRESENT    AGE.          275 

moral  cure  before  it  did  a  material  one.  The  moral 
remedy  was  the  principle,  of  which  the  material  was 
the  consequence.  Our  cure  must  proceed  in  a  like 
manner ;  first,  truth,  and  then  social  reformation,  as 
the  effect  of  truth.  Such  is  the  law  of  revolution. 
At  present,  there  is  hardly  the  faint  appearance  and 
first  dawning  of  new  solutions  of  the  great  questions 
of  human  interest.  And  it  is  plain,  therefore,  that 
we  are,  as  yet,  far  distant  from  the  last  period  and 
final  completion  of  this  revolution.  The  journals, 
which  day  by  day  announce  a  new  order  of  things, 
give  no  description  of  this  better  state.  They  say, 
and  say  truly,  that  the  present  order  does  not  meet 
our  wants ;  but  they  do  not  tell  us  what  should  supply 
its  place.  This,  indeed,  is  precisely  what  they  are 
incapable  of  doing ;  for  they,  like  the  people,  feel 
only  the  want  of  truths  which  are  yet  undiscovered, 
and  they,  like  the  people,  too,  are  ignorant  of  them. 
They  would  be  nearer  the  truth,  if  they  did  but  know 
that  they  were  ignorant  of  it ;  and  they  would  be 
nearer  still,  if  they  comprehended  that  as  yet  it  can- 
not be  known. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  means  by  which  we  may 
preserve  a  calm  mind,  in  this  feverish  and  agitated 
era.  But  we  must  do  more  than  this ;  we  must  not 
only  preserve  the  mind  calm,  we  must  direct  it.  And, 
in  this  regard,  how  can  we  do  better  than  imitate 
the  example  of  those  men,  who,  in  an  age  similar 
to  our  own,  —  the  age  which  followed  the  overthrow 
of  the  ancient  faith,  —  so  lived,  that  their  names  have 
been  reverenced  through  succeeding  times  ?  These 


276  JOUFFROY. 

men,  who  were  the  Stoics,  announced,  in  the  midst 
of  universal  anarchy  and  corruption,  the  imperisha- 
ble principles  of  morality  ;  established  rules  for  pri- 
vate duty,  when  all  public  law  was  broken  down ; 
and,  sheltering  themselves  in  virtue,  passed,  untainted, 
through  the  most  polluted  era  that  history  records. 
We  need  but  mention  the  names  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
Epictetus,  and  their  illustrious  friends,  to  show  that 
it  is  in  the  power  of  individuals  to  preserve  their 
characters  and  conduct  pure,  amidst  the  ruins  of  even 
the  corruptest  ages.  We,  then,  certainly  can  do  it, — 
we,  who  live  in  an  age  so  much  more  elevated  in  char- 
acter, under  the  light  of  Christianity,  and  of  a  phi- 
losophy purified  by  its  power.  It  is  entirely  possible 
for  any  individual,  who  will  seek  seriously  to  distin- 
guish good  from  evil,  to  keep  his  mind  and  con- 
science clear  from  the  swarm  of  absurd  and  immoral 
notions  which  an  incredible  license  of  thought,  yet 
more  than  of  feeling,  lets  loose  each  day  upon  soci- 
ciety,  from  the  journals,  the  theatre,  and  books. 
There  is  no  one,  who  cannot,  by  consulting  good 
sense  and  his  own  heart,  plan  out,  for  himself,  a 
course  of  conduct  conformable  to  the  purest  maxims 
of  morality,  and,  by  firm  purpose,  remain  faithful 
to  it,  and  realize  his  ideal.  This  is  possible  for  us, 
one  and  all ;  and  what  we  can  do,  we  ought  to 
do.  No  one  is  excusable  for  not  preserving,  invio- 
late, his  character  and  reason,  in  a  period  like  the 
present ;  for,  although  there  are,  in  our  social  con- 
dition, circumstances  which  may  be  temptations  to 
those  who  will  allow  themselves  to  be  led  astray 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.  277 

and  corrupted,  yet  it  is  to  prepare  us  for  precisely 
such  situations,  that  God  has  endowed  us  with  judg- 
ment and  with  will. 

And  our  country,  gentlemen, — our  country,  which, 
next  to  integrity  and  honor,  should  be  the  first  object 
of  regard,  —  is  there  not,  in  our  time,  as  in  all  times, 
a  way  of  being  useful  to  her  ?  There  is ;  it  is  to  make 
her  true  situation,  and  the  causes  of  it,  known  to  all 
her  children  ;  to  explain  to  them  the  secret  of  their 
wants,  the  nature  of  the  good  which  all  are  craving, 
and  the  means  best  adapted  to  its  acquisition.  This, 
in  my  judgment,  is  the  only  possible  way  of  keeping 
society  calm  and  well  ordered,  when  society  is  with- 
out a  faith.  We  must,  then,  enlighten  as  much  as 
we  can  the  great  body  of  the  people :  never  was 
light  so  necessary,  never  did  they  need  discernment 
more.  When  society  is  under  the  influence  of  an 
established  faith,  the  catechism  neutralizes  the  effects 
of  ignorance.  But  when  minds  without  convictions 
are  left  an  undefended  prey  to  all  ideas,  good  and 
bad,  useful  and  injurious,  as  they  may  arise,  there 
is  but  one  source  of  safety,  and  that  is,  the  diffu- 
sion of  such  a  degree  of  information  as  may  enable 
each  citizen  to  discern  his  own  true  interest,  and 
the  actual  condition  of  his  country.  All,  of  our 
day,  who  understand  the  times,  have  a  mission  of 
patriotism  to  discharge ;  it  is  to  communicate  to 
others  their  own  information,  and  thus  aid  in  calming 
down  the  moral  conflicts  of  the  public  mind,  as  they 
have  calmed  their  own.  To  one  who  really  compre- 
hends the  present  state  of  things,  there  is  no  cause 
for  fear.  And  once  free  from  fear,  we  can  meditate, 

VOL.    I.  Y 


278  JOUFFROY. 

we  can  plan  our  course,  we  can  work,  we  can  live. 
But  when  we  rise  each  morning,  in  the  dread  of 
ruin,  with  the  feeling  that  we  are  on  the  verge  of  some 
terrible  catastrophe,  thought  becomes  impossible ;  we 
can  but  abandon  ourselves  to  the  current  of  events, 
and  there  is  an  end  at  once  to  labor  and  reflection, 
to  all  plans  for  life,  and  all  developments  of  char- 
acter ;  like  leaves,  we  become  the  sport  of  each  pass- 
ing breeze. 

And  now,  after  what  I  have  said  in  this  lecture 
of  the  fruitlessness  of  mere  outward  and  material 
revolutions,  —  after  the  proof  I  have  offered  that  they 
never  can  advance  society  towards  the  good  which  it 
is  seeking,  but  that  they  produce  always  disorder  and 
suffering,  —  need  I  add,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
enlightened  man  and  good  citizen  to  prevent,  if 
possible,  such  useless  evil.  Once  more  I  repeat, 
therefore,  that  when  it  is  the  object  of  outward  revolu- 
tion to  realize  and  complete  a  moral  revolution,  then, 
and  then  only,  revolution  is  both  reasonable  and  right. 
But  when  a  conviction  of  the  need  of  a  moral  organ- 
ization for  society,  so  far  from  being  generally  estab- 
lished in  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  community,  is 
not  even  apprehended  by  those  who  profess  to  be 
the  heralds  of  civilization, —  in  such  a  case,  revolution 
can  only  bring  uncompensated  suffering;  and  every 
friend  of  his  country  should  withhold  his  aid.  In 
speaking  to  you  thus,  gentlemen,  I  am  not  preaching  a 
sermon.  I  do  but  simply  unfold  to  your  view  the 
necessary  consequence  of  the  great  law  of  revolution, 
to  which  humanity  is  subject.  My  frankness  and  free- 
dom will  not,  I  am  confident,  be  misunderstood. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  HOBBES.  279 


LECTURE    XI. 

SYSTEMS    WHICH    MISCONCEIVE    AND    MUTILATE    THE    LAW 
OF   OBLIGATION. 

THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES. 

GENTLEMEN, 

THE  systems  which  we  have  thus  far  exam- 
ined make  no  attempt  to  determine  whether  there 
is,  or  is  not,  any  law  of  obligation.  This  question, 
indeed,  never  presented  itself  to  the  minds  of  their 
authors.  They  were  occupied  in  considering  quite 
different  ones ;  and  it  was  only  in  an  incidental  way, 
while  discussing  questions  wholly  foreign  in  appear- 
ance from  the  fundamental  one  of  ethics,  that  they 
were  led,  actually,  to  deny  the  existence  of  the  law 
of  obligation  in  human  nature. 

But  we  come,  now,  to  another  class  of  systems, 
which  are  essentially  ethical  systems,  and  which 
come  to  this  same  result,  of  denying  the  existence 
of  the  law  of  obligation,  by  an  actual  examination 
of  the  questions  whether  there  does  exist  in  our 
nature  any,  and,  if  any,  what  rule  for  conduct  ?  They 
do  not  all,  however,  reach  this  common  conclusion 
in  the  same  way.  Seeking  in  the  human  mind  for 
the  original  principle  of  morality  and  right,  on  which 


JOUFFROY. 

all  ethics  and  legislation  must  be  based,  some  of  these 
systems  go  wholly  astray,  and  believe  that  they  find  it 
either  in  self-love,  or  in  some  of  our  primitive  ten- 
dencies ;  while  others,  feeling  that  it  must,  in  its 
nature,  be  impersonal  and  disinterested,  place  it  in 
a  conception  of  the  reason,  indeed,  where  truly  it  is 
to  be  found;  but,  mistaking  the  character  of  this  con- 
ception, they  fall  into  various  errors.  We  might, 
with  good  reason,  divide  these  systems,  then,  into  two 
categories ;  the  first  embracing  those  which  destroy 
the  law  of  obligation,  by  wholly  misconceiving  its  essen- 
tial nature ;  and  the  second  those  which  produce  the 
same  result,  by  the  false  view  which  they  give  of  this 
nature.  But  I  shall  not,  at  present,  insist  upon  this 
distinction,  for  it  is  not  in  itself  a  very  important 
one;  and  it  is  difficult,  in  express  terms,  to  describe 
it,  so  equivocal  is  all  philosophical  language.  It 
will  be  easier  to  make  this  distinction  manifest,  after 
a  discussion  of  these  systems. 

The  first  of  these  systems  which  I  shall  present 
to  you  —  and  it  deserves  this  preference  on  account 
of  its  celebrity  —  is  the  system  of  self-interest,  of 
which,  in  modern  times,  Hobbes  has  been  the  most 
famous  teacher.  This  and  the  following  lecture  will 
be  devoted  to  a  criticism  of  the  principles  and  theory 
of  this  philosopher. 

It  continually  happens,  gentlemen,  that  we  perform 
acts,  because  we  see  that  they  will  be  followed  by  a 
pleasure;  and,  again,  we  continually  pursue  objects, 
because  we  know  that  the  possession  of  them  will 
give  gratification.  On  the  other  hand,  we  often  re- 
fuse to  perform  acts,  or  avoid  objects,  because  we 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  281 

think  that  such  performance  or  possession  will  be 
a  cource  of  pain.  This  motive  to  choice  is  one, 
then,  which  is  familiar  to  us  all ;  and  every  day's 
experience  must  exhibit  its  operation  to  even  the 
most  careless  observer.  Now,  Hobbes  declares  that 
this  is  the  sole  motive  of  human  choice.  He  asserts 
that  the  end  of  every  action  is  the  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
or  the  escape  from  pain ;  and,  generalizing  his  ob- 
servation, he  thus  expresses  the  formula  which  is  the 
principle  of  his  system  —  well-being  is  the  end  of  man. 

Observe,  gentlemen,  Hobbes  uses  the  expression 
well-being,  not  good.  In  fact,  the  general  term  which 
represents  an  agreeable  state  is  not  good,  but  well- 
being,  or,  if  you  please,  happiness.  If  Hobbes  had 
said  happiness  is  the  end  of  man,  he  would  perfectly 
have  expressed  his  idea ;  and  he  equally  expresses 
it  in  the  language  which  he  has  adopted  —  well-being 
is  the  end  of  man.  But  he  would  have  done  injustice 
to  his  thoughts,  had  he  said  good  is  the  end  of  man ; 
for  the  word  good  suggests  to  all  minds  —  even  to 
those  most  preoccupied  with  the  conviction  that  the 
end  of  all  our  actions  is  happiness  —  some  ideas 
quite  different  from  those  of  enjoyment  and  pleasure. 
The  expression  of  Hobbes  is,  then,  the  most  strictly 
exact  which  he  could  employ  to  convey  his  idea. 

If  the  end  of  every  act  is  pleasure,  it  follows 
necessarily  that  the  universal  motive  of  every  act  is 
the  desire  of  pleasure.  For  the  same  reason,  then, 
that  Hobbes  has  said  that  the  final  end  of  every 
act  is  well-being,  he  should  have  said  that  the  uni- 
versal motive  of  human  conduct  is  the  desire  of 
well-being. 

Y2 


382  JOUFFROY, 

Thus,  then,  to  express  the  whole  system  of  Hobbes 
in  brief,  we  may  say,  well-being  is  the  end  of  every 
action,  and  the  love  of  well-being  the  universal  motive 
of  human  conduct.  This  is  the  actual  theory,  which 
he  adopts  and  professes,  as  to  the  law  of  human 
volition. 

His  principle  once  established,  Hobbes  proceeds, 
with  the  strict  logic  for  which  he  is  justly  celebrated, 
to  deduce  from  it  a  series  of  consequences.  These 
I  will  now  exhibit.  There  are  two  classes  of  these 
consequences  —  the  first,  metaphysical  and  direct ;  the 
second,  remote,  and  extending  to  ethics  and  politics. 

If  it  is  true,  gentlemen,  that  the  sole  reason  which 
can  determine  a  man  to  perform  any  act,  or  seek 
any  object,  is  the  pleasure  attending  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  one,  and  the  possession  of  the  other, 
it  follows  necessarily,  that  the  condition  requisite 
for  any  act  of  will  is  the  anticipation  of  that  pleasure. 
This  universal  motive,  as  Hobbes  considers  it,  of 
human  action,  then,  cannot  impel  us,  without  a  con- 
ception, recognized  by  reason,  of  the  consequences 
which  will  accompany  the  act,  and  the  attainment 
of  the  object.  This  condition  being  fulfilled,  we . 
can  act ;  otherwise,  we  cannot. 

A  second  direct  consequence  of  the  principle  is, 
that  all  objects  and  acts  are  matters  of  indifference 
to  us,  except  in  so  far  as  we  conceive  of  them  as 
producing,  certain  effects  upon  ourselves ;  for,  in  what, 
according  to  the  system  of  Hobbes,  does  all  the  good 
or  evil  of  acts  or  objects  consist?  Solely  in  their 
fitness  to  produce  pleasure  or  pain.  We  must  be 
acquainted,  then,  with  their  fitness  or  unfitness  to 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  283 

produce  pleasure,  before  we  can  determine  their  moral 
quality ;  and  the  only  moral  quality  which  we  can  ever 
discover  in  them  is  this  property  of  producing  pain  or 
pleasure. 

If  this  is  true,  that  the  only  ground  on  which  we  can 
desire  or  dislike,  seek  or  avoid  certain  acts  or  objects, 
is,  that  they  appear  to  us  fitted  to  produce  pleasurable 
or  painful  consequences,  then  it  follows,  in  the  third 
place,  that  we  have  not  a  variety  of  passions,  as  is  usu- 
ally supposed,  but  a  single  passion  only,  which  is  the 
love  of  personal  well-being,  of  our  own  pleasure,  our 
individual  happiness.  The  passions,  therefore,  numer- 
ous and  various  as  they  appear,  are  so  only  externally  — 
only  in  relation  to  the  material  objects  affecting  them : 
within  us  these  different  passions  are  found  to  be,  and 
can  only  be,  transformations  of  one  single  passion  ;  and 
that  is  the  love  and  desire  of  personal  well-being. 
Hobbes  did  not  hesitate  to  resolve  all  human  passions 
into  this  single  one ;  and  he  was  led,  therefore,  to  give 
such  definitions  and  explanations  of  these  passions  as 
seem  strange  enough  ;  but  they  are,  nevertheless,  the 
only  ones  which  he  consistently  could  give. 

For  example,  the  human  heart  has  an  instinctive  im- 
pulse to  reverence  God  ;  and  an  emotion  of  the  same  na- 
ture is  felt  towards  certain  men.  Now,  what,  according 
to  Hobbes,  is  reverence  1  It  is  a  conception  of  the 
superior  power  of  the  person  whom  we  honor.  Again,  a 
wholly  opposite  sentiment  is  awakened  in  us  by  another 
class  of  persons  —  the  sentiment  of  the  ridiculous. 
How  does  Hobbes  explain  this  ?  It  is  a  conception,  he 
says,  of  our  own  superiority  to  the  person  we  laugh  at. 
Once  more  ;  we  see,  at  each  moment,  and  under  a  thou- 


284 


JOUFFROY. 


sand  forms,  the  sentiment  of  love  manifested  in  all 
social  relations,  in  the.  mother  towards  her  child,  in  the 
child  towards  its  mother,  in  the  lover  towards  his  mis- 
tress, and  in  friend  towards  friend.  What  is  love,  ac- 
cording to  Hobbes  ?  It  is  a  conception  of  the  utility 
of  the  loved  person.  Thus,  the  mute  adoration  of  a 
mother,  hanging  over  the  cradle  of  her  child,  is  only  a 
foresight  of  the  service  which  that  child  may,  at  some 
future  day,  render.  What  is  pity?  It  is  the  imagi- 
nation of  a  misfortune  which  may  one  day  happen 
to  ourselves,  as  we  contemplate  the  misery  of  another. 
Benevolence,  kindness,  charity,  what  are  they  ?  They 
are  all  but  manifestations  of  the  consciousness  of 
power,  sufficient  to  produce  happiness,  not  only  for 
ourselves,  but  also  for  others.  You  can  judge, from 
these  examples.of  the  rigorous  logic  with  which  Hobbes 
traces  back  all  our  passions,  even  those  apparently  the 
most  disinterested  and  remote  from  any  pursuit  of 
individual  good,  to  self-love.  And  thus  he  was  obliged 
to  do  ;  for  had  he  but  once  admitted  the  existence  of 
any  other  sentiment  in  our  nature  than  the  love  of  our 
own  well-being,  his  whole  system  would  have  been 
overthrown. 

What,  according  to  this  system,  is  the  first  and  great- 
est good  ?  Assuredly  the  preservation  of  the  individ- 
ual. For  the  indispensable  condition  for  happiness  is 
existence ;  if  life  is  lost,  all  enjoyment  becomes,  of 
course,  impossible.  The  greatest  of  all  evils,  then,  is 
death.  What  we  are  to  seek  above  all  things,  in  pur- 
suit of  our  highest  well-being,  is  self-preservation ; 
what  we  are  most  earnestly  to  shun  is  destruction. 

All   such  consequences  as  these  are  the  necessary 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  285 

results  of  the  system  adopted  by  Hobbes.  But  thus  far 
they  are  only  theoretical.  Let  us  pass  on  to  others, 
which  bear  directly  upon  the  conduct  and  practice  of 
life. 

Admit  that  man  is  constituted  as  Hobbes  supposes ; 
place  with  him  the  principle  of  all  choice  in  the  love 
of  happiness,  and  grant  that  human  conduct,  profoundly 
analyzed,  confirms  this  view,  —  what  follows?  Necessa- 
rily, inevitably  it  follows,  that  all  means,  which  can 
conduce  to  this  simple  and  only  true  end  of  man,  must 
be  good  and  lawful ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  man  has  a 
right  to  appropriate,  by  every  means  in  his  power, 
whatever  will  contribute  to  his  own  well-being.  The 
course  of  conduct  truly  proper  and  rational  is  deter- 
mined, then,  by  this  consideration,  that  it  leads  to  indi- 
vidual happiness.  All  acts,  all  conduct,  which  conduce 
to  this,  are,  for  that  very  reason,  good,  proper,  lawful. 
The  right  to  do  any  thing  and  every  thing,  which  can 
increase  our  well-being,  is,  then,  according  to  Hobbes, 
imprescriptible.  And  this  right  is  the  foundation  of 
ethics.  He  says  this  with  reason ;  for  by  ethics  is 
meant,  in  every  language,  precisely  the  ideal  of  that 
course  of  conduct  which  is  good,  proper,  and  conform- 
able to  reason. 

Now,  well-being  is  an  individual  thing  ;  if,  therefore, 
the  desire  of  well-being  is  the  sole  source  of  all  volitions, 
as  it  cannot  be  the  well-being  of  another  that  I  desire,  I 
must  be  impelled  by  a  desire  for  my  own.  Every  one 
has  his  own  view  of  well-being,  and  of  pleasure ;  every 
one  determines  for  himself  what  are  the  means  fitted  to 
attain  it ;  constitutions  are  unlike;  tastes  differ,  each 
has  his  own  estimate  of  happiness,  and  of  the  proper 


286  JOUFFROY. 

way  to  gain  it :  the  only  judge,  therefore,  of  what  is 
good  as  an  end,  or  good  as  a  means,  must  be  the  indi- 
vidual himself.  There  can  be  no  other.  Whence  it 
follows,  that  ends  and  means  become  good  by  the  mere 
fact  that  they  are  considered  to  be  so  by  the  individual. 
There  may  be,  therefore,^  as  many  modes  of  right  con- 
duct as  there  are  persons,  because  every  one  may  have 
his  own  way  of  conceiving  of  happiness  and  of  the 
modes  of  attaining  it,  and  all  modes  are  in  themselves 
equally  good.  There  cannot  be  one  system  of  ethics, 
then ;  but  there  must  be  as  many  systems  as  there  are 
individuals.  And  thus  two  courses  of  conduct,  the 
most  different  and  opposite,  may  be  equally  proper  ;  for, 
to  make  them  so,  it  is  only  necessary  that  they  should 
be  considered  by  the  individual  as  conducive  to  his 
well-being.  The  individual  is  supreme  ;  his  judgment 
is  sovereign;  he  creates  right  and  wrong;  by  his  own 
choice  he  produces  good,  and  at  his  will  destroys  it. 

Such  are  the  consequences  of  Hobbes's  system  in 
relation  to  individual  conduct.  Let  us  turn  now  to 
its  political  consequences.  He  has  deduced  them 
from  his  main  principle  with  equal  strictness  of  reason- 
ing. If  every  one  has  a  right  of  deciding  for  himself 
upon  whatever  is  necessary  to  the  attainment  of  his 
best  good,  and  if  no  other  person  has  a  right  to  pass 
judgment,  either  upon  the  end  or  means  which  he 
selects,  it  follows,  necessarily,  that  each  individual  has 
a  right  to  the  possession  of  all  things.  For  can  we 
conceive  of  any  thing  which  may  not  be  included  in  the 
idea  of  individual  good,  either  as  an  end  or  a  means  ? 
The  individual,  then,  has  a  right  to  every  thing.  And, 
therefore,  in  a  state  of  nature,  the  right  of  each  indi- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  287 

vidual  extends,  without  exception,  to  all  things  which 
exist. 

But  if  each  has  this  rightful  claim  to  all  things, 
there  must  be  a  collision  and  conflict  of  rights.  If  I 
desire  the  possession  of  a  certain  object  as  necessary  to 
my  well-being,  my  neighbor  may  consider  it  necessary 
to  his,  and  may  look  upon  my  act  of  taking  possession 
as  injurious  to  him.  Hence  inevitable  contests.  The 
right  of  each  individual  to  the  possession  of  any  and 
every  object  produces,  necessarily,  therefore,  a  strife 
between  one  and  all ;  it  sets  every  individual  at  war 
with  all  others.  It  follows  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
then,  from  Hobbes's  system,  that  the  natural  condition 
of  individuals  is  one  of  conflict.  Hence  his  celebrated 
axiom,  "  War  is  the  state  of  nature; "  and  this  not  an 
accidental  nor  partial  war,  but  a  war  unceasing  and 
universal  of  every  man  with  every  other  man. 

Now,  to  one  who  regards  happiness  as  the  greatest 
good,  nothing  can  be  worse,  as  Hobbes  has  clearly 
seen,  than  such  a  state  of  war.  For  what,  according 
to  his  theory,  is  good  ?  It  is  every  thing  that  tends  to 
produce  happiness.  What,  then,  can  be  worse  than  a 
state,  the  characteristic  of  which  is,  that  each  indi- 
vidual is  continually  exposed  to  attack  from  the  united 
forces  of  all  other  individuals  ?  Evidently,  in  such  a 
state  of  things,  the  individual  must,  sooner  or  later,  be 
destroyed,  and  thus,  in  consequence,  entirely  hindered 
from  obtaining  happiness.  No  other  state  can  so 
completely  prevent  all  possibility  of  well-being;  no 
other  state  can  threaten  so  continually  the  existence  of 
the  individual ;  and  this,  be  it  remembered,  is  the 
greatest  good  of  all,  because  it  is  the  necessary  condi- 


288  JOUFFROY. 

tion  of  every  other.  The  state  of  war  is,  then,  the 
worst  possible,  if  Hobbes's  system  is  true ;  and  yet  it  is 
the  state  of  nature.  Hence  his  bold  conclusion  that 
peace  at  any  cost,  peace  on  any  conditions,  is  prefer- 
able to  this  state  of  nature,  this  state  of  war.  But 
peace  is  the  effect  of  society ;  it  is  society  alone  that 
can  establish  it,  and  destroy  that  state  of  war,  which  is 
man's  natural  and  primitive  condition. 

What,  then,  according  to  Hobbes,  is  society  ?  The 
nature  of  society  is  determined  wholly  by  its  constitu- 
ent element,  and  this  element  is  the  existence  of  a 
power  sufficient  to  prevent,  among  a  number  of  collected 
individuals,  the  natural  state  of  war. 

Such  is  the  exact  definition  of  society,  according  to 
Hobbes.  He  finds  in  it  nothing  more.  What,  then, 
is  the  end  of  society  1  The  repression  of  the  state  of 
war.  What  is  the  original  cause  of  the  formation  of 
society  ?  The  misery  of  the  natural  state.  Hobbes  is 
ready  to  admit,  however,  that  there  are  two  possible 
ways  in  which  society  may  originate.  The  first  is  by 
contract ;  and  such  a  contract  is  made  whenever  dif- 
ferent individuals,  feeling  the  inconveniences  of  the 
state  of  nature,  attd  condemning  it  as  the  worst  of  all 
conditions,  agree  to  establish  a  force,  which  shall  be 
superior  to  that  of  any  individual,  and  capable  of  de- 
stroying him,  if  necessary,  in  suppressing  war  and  sub- 
stituting for  it  peace.  Society,  thus  formed,  originates 
in  contract.  But  there  is  another  mode  of  forming 
society.  A  single  man  may,  by  cunning  or  power,  suc- 
ceed in  extending  his  authority  over  a  multitude  of 
others,  and  thus  establish  a  social  state.  Here  society 
is  based  on  the  right  of  the  strongest ;  but  it  is  none 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  289 

the  worse  on  that  account,  because,  according  to 
Hobbes,  the  only  characteristic  of  society  is  the  exist- 
ence of  a  power  sufficiently  strong  to  repress  war  be- 
tween individuals ;  this  being  done,  society  exists ;  and, 
since  the  right  of  the  strongest  can  produce  this  result 
as  well  as  contract,  society  can  originate  in  one  way 
as  well  as  the  other ;  and  one  is  as  legitimate  an  origin 
as  the  other,  according  to  Hobbes.  For  what  consti- 
tutes legitimacy,  in  his  view?  Whatever  conduces  to 
the  highest  good,  that  is  the  greatest  happiness  of  each 
individual.  Now,  it  has  been  proved  that  the  state  of 
nature,  or  of  war,  is  the  worst  possible  for  the  individ- 
ual, and  the  state  of  society  the  best.  Provided,  then, 
that  society  exists,  —  no  matter  how  it  originated,  —  it 
is  legitimate.  Society,  founded  upon  conquest,  or  the 
right  of  the  strongest,  is  as  legitimate  and  conformable 
to  reason,  as  society  based  upon  contract ;  for  one 
attains,  as  well  as  the  other,  the  end  proposed  for  soci- 
ety ;  and  it  is  the  end,  and  the  end  alone,  that  deter- 
mines its  legitimacy. 

What,  now,  is  the  best  form  of  society,  or,  as  it 
amounts  to  the  same  thing,  the  best  among  the  various 
kinds  of  power  by  which  society  can  be  constituted  7 
Hobbes  does  not  hesitate  to  answer,  the  strongest.  And 
which  is  the  strongest  ?  It  is  that  in  which  power  is 
concentrated  in  a  single  hand,  or  the  monarchical 
form  :  the  monarchical,  therefore,  is  the  most  perfect 
form  of  government.  But,  of  different  modes  of  mon- 
archy, which  is  the  best?  Again  he  answers,  the 
strongest.  And  which  is  the  strongest?  Absolute 
monarchy.  This,  then,  is  the  best  of  all  forms  for 
VOL.  i,  z 


290  JOUFFROY, 

society ;  and  this  is  a  strict  and  necessary  conclusion 
from  the  whole  system. 

Under  whatever  form,  and  upon  whatever  foundation 
government  may  rest,  its  rights  and  duties,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  acts  which  it  may,  and  which  it  may  not,  do 
to  the  members  of  society,  remain  always  the  same. 
As  its  mission  is  to  overcome  the  resistance  of  individ- 
uals ;  as  it  can  maintain  the  state  of  peace  only  by 
subduing  war;  and  as  war  originates  in  the  exercise  of 
individual  power,  —  it  follows  that  the  right  and  duty  of 
every  government  is  to  repress  and  destroy  the  power 
of  each  individual,  by  all  possible  means.  Conse- 
quently, government,  whatever  may  have  been  its  form 
and  origin,  has  an  unlimited  right  of  action.  What- 
ever it  chooses  to  do  is,  for  that  very  reason,  right ;  for 
its  authority  can  be  limited  only  by  the  increase  of 
individual  power ;  that  is  to  say,  by  introducing  the 
state  of  war,  thus  sacrificing  peace.  Limitations  to 
its  authority  are,  therefore,  contrary  to  the  very  end 
of  its  existence,  and  to  the  end  of  society  ;  and  by 
permitting  such  limitations,  it  falls  short  of  the  ideal 
type,  which  every  government  should  approach  as 
nearly  as  is  possible. 

What,  now,  are  the  duties  and  rights  of  subjects  in 
relation  to  a  government,  supposing  this  to  be  the  true 
conception  of  government?  Rights  they  have  none; 
and  their  duties  are  all  comprehended  in  the  single 
one  of  obedience,  under  all  circumstances,  to  whatever 
government  may  command  ;  for  any  disobedience  to 
established  power  tends  to  reawaken  the  struggle  for 
individual  power ;  and  this  is  a  return  to  that  state  of 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  291 

war,  which  is  the  worst  possible,  and,  consequently, 
the  least  legitimate  of  all  states.  Hence,  as  you  may 
see,  it  follows  necessarily,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
subject  to  obey,  and  that  he  has  no  right  of  resist- 
ance, whatever,  against  any  thing  that  government 
ordains. 

The  only  possible  error,  which  government  can 
commit,  is  the  performance  of  acts  tending  to  weaken 
or  overthrow  its  power.  But  even  when  it  does  pursue 
false  measures,  subjects  are  still  bound  to  respect  it, 
and  submit  to  it.  For  what  makes  any  measure  a 
false  one?  The  fact  that  it  tends  to  lessen  the 
authority  of  the  government.  Disobedience  would 
but  increase  the  evil.  The  error  of  government  can 
never  justify,  therefore,  the  disobedience  of  the  sub- 
ject. Subjects  can  in  no  case  whatsoever,  then, 
have  rights  against  the  government ;  for  any  right 
of  resistance,  even  against  injudicious  measures,  would 
be  a  return  to  that  natural  state  of  war,  which  is  the 
worst  state  of  all. 

Such  is  the  political  system  of  Hobbes.  It  is, 
as  you  see,  a  necessary  result  of  his  ethical  system, 
which  is  itself  deduced,  by  strict  reasoning,  from  his 
leading  doctrine  as  to  the  end  of  man,  and  the  single 
motive  for  all  human  action.  With  the  exception 
of  a  few  inconsistencies,  to  be  noticed  hereafter,  the 
deduction  is  perfectly  strict. 

Thus  briefly  have  I  set  before  you  the  celebrated 
system  of  Hobbes ;  and  the  exposition  has  been,  I 
trust,  clear,  exact,  and  complete.  It  now  remains  for 
us  to  see  how  far  this  doctrine  is  a  true  one,  and, 


292  JOUFFROY. 

if  it  errs,  to  determine  the  nature  of  the  error  on 
which  it  is  based. 

In  the  present  lecture,  I  shall  not  communicate  all 
the  remarks  which  the  system  might  suggest,  but 
shall  limit  myself  to  an  examination  of  the  representa- 
tion which  it  gives  of  the  phenomenon  of  human 
volitions.  And,  in  comparing  this  system  wkh  our 
own  consciousness,  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  in  what 
particulars  it  is  inexact,  incomplete,  and,  consequently, 
false.  It  is  in  its  fundamental  principle,  then,  that 
I  shall  examine  the  system  of  Hobbes ;  for,  if  this 
principle  is  true,  we  cannot  refuse  to  admit  all  the 
consequences  resulting  from  it. 

By  our  analysis  of  the  various  modes  of  human 
volition,  we  have  been  led  to  the  conclusion,  that 
man  is  impelled  to  action  in  three  different  ways; 
that  is  to  say,  by  three  classes  of  motives.  I  have 
described  these  classes,  and  have  shown  you  how  each 
of  these  motives  influences  volition  in  a  distinct  and 
peculiar  manner. 

Of  these  three  sources  of  volition,  which  observa- 
tion has  proved  really  to  be  active  in  the  human  soul, 
you  see,  at  a  glance,  that  Hobbes  has  overlooked  or 
misunderstood  two.  This  deficiency  of  exact  analysis 
is  important  in  itself,  and  yet  more  so  in  its  conse- 
quences. As,  instead  of  recognizing  three  distinct 
classes  of  motives,  which  determine  human  conduct, 
Hobbes  admits  only  one,  he  inevitably  arrives,  by 
setting  out  from  these  false  premises,  at  such  conse- 
quences as  contradict  and  overthrow  all  the  ideas 
and  beliefs  which  common  experience  has  introduced 
into  the  minds  of  men. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  293 

And  first,  gentlemen,  Hobbes  has  confounded  the 
selfish  motive,  which  he  admits,  with  the  motive  of 
impulse  and  passion,  which  is  always  its  predecessor, 
and  perfectly  distinct  from  it.  In  truth,  the  primi- 
tive tendencies  of  nature  have  not  the  same  end  with 
self-interest  well  understood,  as  conceived  by  reason. 
The  peculiar  and  final  end  of  each  instinctive  ten- 
dency is  the  particular  object  which  it  seeks.  Thus, 
from  the  fact  that  I  am  an  intelligent  being,  the 
desire  of  knowledge  springs  up  within  me ;  and  this 
desire,  in  itself,  impels  me  to  learn,  without  the  need 
of  any  calculation,  by  reason,  of  the  consequences 
of  this  knowledge,  or  any  foresight  that  its  acquisi- 
tion will  give  pleasure.  This  may  be  plainly  seen 
among  children,  who  have  great  curiosity,  but  certainly 
not  from  any  calculation  of  its  consequence ;  and 
mature  men,  although,  in  many  instances,  they  do, 
undoubtedly,  calculate,  reason,  and  examine,  before 
they  act,  yet  far  more  frequently  they  follow  the 
immediate  impulse,  and  pursue  the  object  exciting 
the  desire,  without  a  thought  of  the  pleasure  which 
its  acquisition  may  bring.  Do  you  think  that  he 
who  loves  and  seeks  the  truth,  does  so  on  account 
of  the  pleasure  which  will  follow  the  discovery  of  it, 
and  because  he  has  conceived  beforehand  and  cal- 
culated that  he  shall,  by  this  discovery,  experience 
a  certain  amount  of  happiness  ?  Nothing  can  be 
more  unlike  the  actual  fact,  than  such  a  supposition. 
In  far  the  majority  of  cases,  we  seek  the  ends  toward 
which  the  instincts  of  our  nature  impel  us,  for  the 
ends  themselves ;  in  thought  and  purpose,  the  end 
itself  is  the  only  thing  pursued  or  thought  about, 


294  JOUFFROY. 

and  the  pleasure  is  unforeseen  and  unanticipated.  If 
this  is  true  of  mature  men,  it  must  be  true  of  the 
child.  The  fact  is,  the  child  never  calculates,  never 
foresees  the  consequences  of  action.  Children  are 
incapable  of  forming  such  conceptions  of  the  results 
of  conduct  as  are  absolutely  requisite,  before  calcu- 
lations of  pleasure  can  be  their  final  end,  and  their 
determining  motive.  Yet  more  may  it  be  said,  that, 
if  we  never  obeyed  the  tendencies  of  our  nature, 
except  from  considerations  of  the  pleasure  that  will 
accompany  their  gratification,  then  would  it  be  im- 
possible that  we  should  ever  act  at  all.  For,  plainly, 
we  never  should  know  that  the  gratification  of  desires 
would  procure  us  pleasure,  except  by  having  once 
experienced  this  pleasure.  Therefore,  it  follows  that, 
if  it  is  true  that  the  condition  of  our  obeying  impulse, 
is  the  conception  of  the  pleasure  attendant  on  its 
gratification,  we  never  should  have  yielded,  for  the 
first  time,  to  any  instinctive  tendency,  and,  conse- 
quently, should  never  have  acted  at  all. 

And,  finally,  ihe  pleasure  which  is  the  end  sought 
by  self-love,  implies  the  activity  of  those  very  impulses, 
whose  end  is  different  from  this  pleasure.  For  what 
causes  the  pleasure  1  The  gratification  of  natural 
impulse.  The  impulse  must  exist,  therefore,  antece- 
dently, or  no  pleasure  would  be  possible.  We  never 
should  experience  the  pleasure  of  quenching  thirst, 
for  example,  unless  we  had  this  thirst ;  and  thirst  is 
a  craving  for  a  particular  object  —  water.  Self-love  is 
the  love  of  all  those  various  pleasures  which  accom- 
pany the  gratification  of  our  different  passions ;  it  is 
entirely  distinct  from  these,  for  it  necessarily  pre- 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM. HOBBES.  295 

supposes  the  existence  of  passions  having  for  their 
end,  in  action,  objects  quite  different  from  this 
pleasure. 

It  is  contradicting  the  actual  fact,  then,  to  maintain, 
that,  whenever  we  obey  an  impulse,  it  is  in  view  of 
the  pleasure  consequent  on  its  gratification.  But  is 
this  saying,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  never  act 
and  never  pursue  an  object  for  the  sake  of  pleasure  1 
Far  from  it.  For  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  our 
choice  is  often  thus  determined.  But,  because  we 
are  thus  sometimes  governed  in  our  actions,  it  nowise 
follows  that  we  always  are,  or  that  we  can  be 
governed  by  no  other  motive.  Among  these  modes, 
by  which  the  human  will  is  determined,  is  one  entirely 
distinct  from  this  of  self-love,  the  characteristic  of 
which  is,  that  the  motive  originates  directly  from  the 
instinctive  impulses  of  our  nature,  and  has  for  its 
final  end  the  particular  object  which  the  passion 
craves. 

Evidently,  then,  there  is,  in  the  idea  of  Hobbes, 
a  fundamental  error ;  and  it  consists  in  confounding 
two  quite  distinct  modes  of  human  volition ;  the 
instinctive  mode,  which  is  the  only  one  seen  in 
children  at  all,  and  which  is  seen,  more  or  less,  in 
mature  men ;  and  the  mode  of  self-interest  and  calcu- 
lation, which  originates  in  a  foresight  of  the  pleasure 
that  will  follow  the  accomplishment  of  an  act,  and 
the  possession  of  an  object.  It  is  plain,  then,  that 
even  if  the  moral  motive  did  not  exist  in  us,  it  would 
still  be  false,  wholly  false,  that  the  only  end  of  all 
our  actions  is  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  the  avoid- 
ing of  pain. 


296  JOUFFROY. 

Great,  however,  as  is  the  error  of  thus  confound- 
ing impulse  with  self-love,  the  system  of  Hobbes  is 
chargeable  with  one  still  greater,  and  quite  as  easily 
detected.  It  confounds  the  moral  mode  of  volition 
with  that  of  self-interest.  For,  as  it  is  perfectly  true 
and  perfectly  evident  that,  in  a  multitude  of  instances, 
we  yield  directly,  and  without  calculation,  to  the  primi- 
tive instincts  of  our  nature,  so  it  is  equally  true  and 
yet  more  evident,  that,  in  .very  many  others,  we  yield 
to  a  motive  which  is  neither  a  pure  natural  instinct, 
nor  a  calculation  of  pleasure,  but  A  conception  of 
duty. 

This  motive  of  duty,  gentlemen,  acts  more  or  less 
upon  all  men :  there  is  no  one  upon  whom  it  does  not 
act  sometimes ;  and  the  reason  why  we  are  so  apt  to 
suppose  that  it  seldom  influences  human  conduct,  is, 
that  it  is,  as  I  have  been  anxious  to  show  you,  so 
much  in  harmony,  both  with  our  natural  instincts  and 
our  true  self-interest,  that  we  rarely  find  it  acting  by 
itself,  and  independently  of  these  other  motives.  In 
most  cases,  the  moral  motive  cooperates  with  impulse 
and  self-love ;  and  in  such  cases,  it  is  not  duty,  which 
is  a  pure  conception  of  the  reason,  that  is  most  appa- 
rent in  the  act  of  choice,  but  the  instinct  or  the 
selfish  calculation,  which  are  far  more  easily  recog- 
nized by  consciousness.  If,  however,  you  will  analyze 
your  commonest  purposes,  you  will  find,  that  the  idea 
of  order,  the  consideration  of  what  is  good  in  itself, 
has  an  influence,  which,  though  little  noticed,  is  still 
really  active.  In  the  majority  of  cases,  a  man  would 
be  ashamed  to  act,  except  in  a  certain  way ;  he  feels 
that  it  would  be  wrong  to  act  in  any  other ;  and  this 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  297 

consideration  has  great  weight  in  affecting  his  decis- 
ion. True,  before  yielding  to  the  influence  of  such 
considerations,  we  are  accustomed  to  conjecture  the 
consequences;  but,  as  the  honorable  path  is  usually 
the  safe  one,  it  happens  most  frequently  among  men 
of  good  sense,  that  such  foresight  of  consequences 
strengthens,  rather  than  impairs,  the  power  of  the 
sense  of  duty ;  and,  in  opposite  cases,  the  sentiment 
of  honor  still  weighs  against  that  of  interest,  and 
not  seldom  counterbalances  it.  Do  I,  by  such  state- 
ments, make  man  appear  better  than  he  is,  and 
attribute  an  exaggerated  moral  purity  to  his  common 
modes  of  volition  1  In  most  cases,  there  is  undoubted- 
ly a  mixture  of  other  motives  with  that  of  duty ; 
but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  deny  the 
fact,  that  the  instinctive  and  selfish  motives  do  not 
exercise  exclusive  control  over  us,  but  that  the  moral 
does  modify  their  influence.  The  simple  truth  is, 
that,  in  a  multitude  of  cases,  the  moral  motive 
cooperates  in  the  determinations  of  our  will,  while, 
in  many  others,  it  is  the  sole  spring  of  conduct. 
A  philosopher,  then,  who,  first  suppressing  and  deny- 
ing the  influence  of  the  instinctive  and  impassioned 
mode  of  choice,  goes  on  to  deny  also  the  moral 
mode,  is  doubly  false  to  human  nature.  Thus  muti- 
lating our  nature,  and  setting  out  from  such  false 
premises,  how  can  he  but  arrive  at  conclusions,  which 
will  give  him  a  wholly  incomplete  and  erroneous 
principle  of  ethics.  Apply  to  such  a  principle 
Hobbes's  vigorous  logic,  and  the  necessary  result 
must  be  deductions  which  wilJ  utterly  overturn  the 
common  convictions  of  mankind. 


298  JOUFFROY. 

But  the  psychological  errors  of  Hobbes  do  not 
stop  here.  Admit  his  hypothesis,  and  grant  that  the 
selfish  motive  is  the  sole  spring  of  all  our  conduct, 
still  I  maintain  that,  even  within  this  limit,  Hobbes  is 
incomplete  and  faulty ;  I  maintain  that  he  has  dis- 
figured and  mutilated  even  this  part  of  our  nature; 
or,  in  other  words,  I  say  that  self-love,  such  as 
Hobbes  has  described  it,  is  not  the  true  self-love 
which  exists  in  the  nature  given  us  by  God. 

Let  me  recall  to  your  minds  an  observation,  made 
while  I  was  exhibiting  to  you  an  analysis  of  the 
moral  facts  of  human  nature ;  which  is,  that  into 
the  idea  of  self-interest  well  understood  there  enter 
two  elements ;  first,  a  view  of  our  own  personal  good, 
and,  secondly,  a  view  of  the  pleasure  accompanying 
the  attainment  of  this  good.  These  two  elements, 
distinct  as  they  are,  and  as  I  have  shown  them  to  be, 
do  still  both  enter  into  the  idea  which  we  form  of  our 
highest  interests. 

Hobbes,  however,  recognizes  but  one  of  these 
elements,  and  entirely  neglects  the  other ;  so  that, 
after  having  elevated  self-love  into  being  the  only 
motive  of  volition,  he  actually  proceeds  to  divide 
this  motive,  and  then,  casting  aside  the  larger  and 
better,  preserves  only  the  least  part,  which  is  but 
a  consequence,  result,  and  accompaniment  of  the 
other.  When  reason,  awakening  after  long  years 
of  infancy,  begins  to  ask  what  constitutes  our  highest 
good,  and  what  ought  to  be  the  end  of  our  conduct, 
the  first  thing  it  remarks  is,  that  our  nature  instinctive- 
ly pursues  certain  ends,  which  it  cannot  attain  without 
pleasure,  or  fail  of  without  pain.  Naturally  enough, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  299 

then,  reason  stops  first  at  this  idea,  that  the  final 
end  of  our  instincts  is  the  happiness  which  their 
satisfaction  gives. 

But  reason,  gentlemen,  cannot  long  rest  here 
Each  instant,  it  meets  with  a  crowd  of  facts,  which 
prove  the  incompleteness  of  this  idea.  When  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman,  passionately  fond  of  the  world 
and  of  display,  devotes  herself  at  once  and  entirely 
to  the  care  of  her  child,  and,  renouncing  pleasures 
lately  sought,  giving  up  her  favorite  pursuits,  sacri- 
ficing her  tastes  and  desires,  forgets  all  that  once 
occupied  her,  in  the  delight  experienced  while  she 
sits  night  and  day  by  the  cradle  of  that  young  being, 
who  is  wholly  incapable  of  repaying  her  affection, — 
who  could  see,  in  this  sublime  transformation,  merely 
a  selfish  calculation  of  pleasure?  Every  one  must 
see  the  presence  of  another  motive,  which  at  once, 
and  independently  of  all  reflection  and  calculation, 
impels  the  mother  to  love  her  child  as  a  final  end; 
I  mean  the  powerful  and  wonderful  instinct  of  sym- 
pathy. When  the  student,  enamored  of  science, 
sacrifices  health,  repose,  all  pleasures  which  tempt 
mankind,  to  the  enjoyment  of  hunting  up  from  musty 
volumes  select  passages,  comparing  them  together, 
and,  after  long  and  laborious  investigation,  drawing 
from  them  some  inference  as  to  a  trifling  event  that 
occurred  thousands  of  years  ago,  —  who  can  fail  to 
be  struck  with  the  evident  and  undeniable  faot,  that 
the  cause  of  this  devoted  toil  is  simply  the  ardent 
curiosity  for  knowledge,  which  is  one  of  the  instincts 
of  all  intelligent  beings  1  A  love  for  truth  in  itself, 
and  a  longing  to  discover  and  know  it,  is  his  final 


300  JOUFFROY. 

end,  and  he  has  never  thought  for  a  moment  of  the 
pleasure  that  will  attend  its  discovery.  Do  we  seek 
truth,  then,  from  having  calculated  what  sensations 
its  acquisition  will  bring,  or  to  obtain  public  applause, 
or  for  the  gratification  of  vanity  which  this  applause 
will  give  ?  Seeking  truth  from  such  motives,  we 
should  never  find  it ;  for  then  only  do  we  gain  it, 
when  we  pursue  it  for  itself.  Reason  is  struck  at 
once  with  these  and  similar  facts,  forever  presented 
in  the  world ;  it  sees,  then,  that  its  first  idea  of  our 
nature  was  incomplete,  and  recognizes  the  fact  that 
there  are  things,  which  are  good  in  themselves,  quite 
independently  of  the  pleasure  which  they  occasion ; 
and  that  they  would  continue  to  be  good,  even  if  the 
pleasure  did  not  attend  them.  When  reason  takes 
this  step,  it  rises  to  an  idea  of  our  true  good  wholly 
different  from  the  first  it  had  conceived  ;  good  now 
becomes  to  its  view  that  which  nature  impels  us  to 
seek,  and  which  is  agreeable  and  in  harmony  with 
our  nature ;  in  other  words,  the  second  element  of 
self-love  appears. 

This  is  not,  indeed,  the  moral  motive,  but  it  ap- 
proaches it  nearly.  This  step  being  taken,  a  second 
at  once  succeeds.  Reason  demands  why  it  is  that 
certain  things  are  in  harmony  with  our  nature,  while 
others  are  not  so;  —  why  it  is  that  we  are  attracted 
to  certain  objects,  and  repelled  from  others.  The 
idea  that  our  nature  has  been  made  for  these  very 
ends,  takes  the  place  of  our  former  one,  that  these 
ends  are  agreeable  to  our  nature ;  and,  from  this 
new  idea,  which,  though  still  within  the  sphere  of 
selfishness,  approaches  nearly  the  limits  of  morality, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  301 

we  rise  to  a  yet  higher  one,  that  all  natures  have 
their  peculiar  ends,  —  that  there  is  one  ultimate  and 
absolute  end,  of  which  particular  ends  are  but  com- 
ponent parts,  —  that  this  absolute  end  is  universal 
order,  —  and  that  this  universal  order  is  the  will 
of  God.  Thus,  at  last,  we  are  lifted  above  motives 
of  a  personal  and  selfish  nature,  and  rise  to  one 
which  is  wholly  impersonal  and  moral.  These  various 
transitions  are  necessary  to  conduct  reason  upward 
from  the  view  of  pleasure,  as  the  only  end  of  action, 
to  that  of  absolute  good  —  of  good,  properly  so  called. 
Self-love,  then,  is  far  more  complex  than  Hobbes  has 
considered  it.  It  includes  other  elements  besides  the 
single  one  of  pleasure  —  other  ideas  than  that  of 
happiness ;  and  thus  you  see  how,  even  in  regard  to 
self-love,  Hobbes  has  given  a  mutilated  and  imperfect 
picture  of  human  nature.  He  has  given  a  false 
view  of  our  nature  in  one  other  way  also;  and  I 
shall  close  my  lecture  with  its  description. 

We  have  seen  that  Hobbes  has  discovered,  in 
self-love,  only  the  one  element  of  pleasure;  whereas 
it  appears  there  are  several  elements.  But  I  confine 
myself  now  to  a  consideration  of  this  single  element ; 
and  I  maintain  that,  even  here,  Hobbes  has  no  more 
given  a  correct  and  complete  view  of  pleasure,  than 
he  has  of  self-love.  Of  the  three  modes  by  which 
the  human  will  is  determined,  he  suppresses  two, 
and  admits  only  that  of  self-love ;  the  selfish  motive 
is  complex,  but  he  suppresses  one  of  its  elements, 
and  preserves  only  that  of  pleasure.  And  now,  does 
he  do  full  justice  to  this?  No:  pleasure  is  also 
complex,  but  he  mutilates  it.  For,  among  the  pleas- 

•«oi..    I.  A  A 


302 

ures  which  man  is  capable  of  enjoying,  a  very  large 
number  are  associated  with  the  happiness  of  others; 
and  these  are  our  very  highest  pleasures.  Who  does 
not  know  that  the  contemplation  of  the  happiness 
of  others,  as  increased  by  our  actions,  or  of  assistance 
rendered  by  us  for  their  support  and  relief,  —  who 
does  not  know  that  a  consciousness  of  the  sympathy 
that  they  feel  for  us>  and  a  sentiment  of  the  kindness 
that  we  experience  towards  them,  -<-  who  does  not 
know  that  these  form  the  largest  and  the  finest  part 
of  our  happiness  1  In  forming  calculations  as  to 
the  attainment  of  the  highest  amount  of  pleasure 
possible,  a  wise  man  would  be  careful,  then,  not  to 
omit  that  class  of  pleasures  which  originate  in  sym- 
pathy, and  which,  more  than  all  others,  contribute  to 
the  happiness  that,  according  to  Nobbes,  is  the  sole 
end  to  be  pursued  in  life.  Now,  suppose  that  a  man 
should  not  overlook,  but  recognize,  this  abundant 
source  of  agreeable  sensations,  —  suppose  that  he 
should  take  them  into  his  calculations,  —  could  he 
ever  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the  state  of  war 
is  the  state  of  nature?  Never,  gentlemen:  he  would 
come,  necessarily  to  the  exactly  opposite  conclusion, 
that  the  social  state  is  the  truly  natural  state.  For, 
if  the  sight  of  the  happiness  of  others  constitutes 
the  largest  and  best  portion  of  our  own,  the  calcula- 
tion of  his  individual  happiness  would  lead  a  man 
of  sense  to  occupy  himself  in  securing  the  well-being 
of  his  brethren  —  to  desire  it,  and  labor  for  it :  all 
men,  therefore,  merely  for  the  sake  of  their  own  hap- 
piness, would  desire  the  happiness  of  their  fellow-men ; 
all  would  seek  to  enjoy  the  delightful  sentiments  of 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOUSES.  303 

kindness  towards,  and  sympathy  from,  their  kind ;  all 
would  pursue  the  pleasures  which  friendship,  love,  fam- 
ily ties,  national  interests,  and  charity,  alone  can  give. 
Yet  more ;  there  is  a  powerful  instinct  in  our  nature, — 
an  instinct  which,  ungratified,  produces  suffering,  and, 
gratified,  brings  joy,  —  the  social  instinct;  and  this 
impels  us  to  seek  society,  and  makes  intercourse  with 
fellow-men  an  absolute  necessity.  The  satisfaction 
of  this  instinct,  also,  must  be  taken  into  our  calcula- 
tions and  plans  for  happiness.  I  ask,  now,  how,  in 
what  marvellous  and  incomprehensible  way,  could 
the  state  of  war  gratify  such  wants  as  grow  out  of 
these  natural  dispositions  ?  Granting,  then,  that 
pleasure  is  the  end  of  all  our  actions,  and  the  sole 
motive  of  all  volitions,  yet  still,  when  we  regard 
this  capacity  for  pleasure  in  its  full  extent,  not  only 
are  we  not  led  to  the  conclusion  of  Hobbes,  that 
the  state  of  nature  is  a  state  of  war,  but  we  arrive 
at  a  result  diametrically  opposite.  Hobbes,  then, 
reducing  all  motives  to  this  single  one  of  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure,  has  not  comprehended  the  nature  of 
pleasure  even ;  he  has  recognized  only  its  grosser 
elements,  which  are  the  smallest  in  number,  and 
least  important ;  and,  even  within  the  narrow  limits 
to  which  he  has  confined  himself,  has  disfigured,  so 
far  as  an  observer  possibly  could  do,  the  true  image  of 
human  nature. 

What  now,  gentlemen,  shall  we  say  of  a  system  built 
upon  such  a  foundation  of  error?  Is  it  not  already 
condemned?  Is  it  worth  our  while  to  examine  and 
refute  it?  It  is  not,  scientifically  speaking.  But  it 
does  demand  our  further  consideration,  when  we  call 


304  JOUFFROY. 

to  mind  the  influence  which  it  has  exerted,  and  when 
we  reflect  that  it  owes  this  influence  to  the  very  fact  of 
its  mutilating,  as  it  does,  the  moral  element,  while  ad- 
mitting only  the  grossest  and  most  tangible  elements  of 
human  volitions.  It  is  this  which  gives  it  that  appear- 
ance of  simplicity,  and  that  plausibility,  which  deceive 
the  crowd ;  and  it  is  this  which  has  made  it  seem  valua- 
ble in  the  judgment  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  ju- 
rists of  our  age,  —  I  mean  Bentham,  —  who,  in  our  day, 
has  revived  this  system  under  a  new  form,  hereafter  to 
be  described.  We  must  go  on,  then,  and  finish  the 
work  we  have  begun ;  we  must  examine  and  discuss  the 
consequences  and  details  of  the  system,  whose  funda- 
mental principle  we  have  now  overthrown.  To  this 
duty  my  next  lecture  will  be  devoted. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  305 


LECTURE    XII. 


THE  SELFISH  SYSTEM.  —  HOBBES. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture  I  confined  myself  to  the 
consideration  of  two  points.  First,  I  exhibited  the 
system  of  Hobbes  in  its  principles  and  consequences ; 
and  secondly,  I  compared  these  principles  with  the  facts 
of  human  nature,  of  which  they  pretend  to  be  a  repre- 
sentation, and  showed  that  a  more  deformed  and  muti- 
lated image  of  the  original  could  not  possibly  be 
formed. 

Let  me  remind  you,  in  brief,  that  Hobbes's  system 
takes  it  for  granted,  that  the  universal  motive  of  action 
is  the  desire  of  well-being ;  that  is  to  say,  the  pursuit 
of  agreeable  sensations.  To  determine  whether  this 
system  rests  on  a  firm  foundation,  we  must  inquire, 
then,  whether  it  is  true,  that  human  actions  have  no 
other  origin  than  this  desire  of  pleasure  and  abhorrence 
of  pain.  This  is  a  simple  question  of  fact :  to  decide 
it,  we  have  merely  to  ask  ourselves  how  our  volitions 
are  determined,  and  then  compare  with  our  conscious- 
ness this  pretended  picture  of  ourselves,  which  Hobbes 
sets  before  us.  This  we  have  done,  and  the  result  of 


300 


JOUFFROY. 


our  discussion  was  all  but  a  complete  demonstration  of 
the  utter  falsity  of  the  whole  system. 

I  showed,  in  the  first  place,  you  will  recollect,  that 
of  the  three  different  modes  of  human  volition,  Hobbes 
has  entirely  overlooked  two,  —  the  impulsive  and  the 
moral,  —  and  has  admitted  only  one,  —  the  selfish, — 
which  he  has  consequently  set  up  as  the  sole  and  univer- 
sal motive  of  all  choice  and  action.  In  the  second  place, 
I  showed  that  the  idea  which  Hobbes  conceived  of  even 
this  motive  of  self-love,  was  incomplete  ;  inasmuch  as 
in  this  selfish  mode  of  volition,  there  is  another  element 
beside  the  desire  of  pleasure.  Action  is  in  harmony 
with  our  nature,  quite  independently  of  the  pleasure 
that  may  result  from  it.  So  that,  after  having  entirely 
set  aside  two  of  the  modes  of  human  volition,  Hobbes 
mutilates  the  only  one  which  he  preserves,  in  suppress- 
ing by  far  the  most  important  of  the  two  elements  of 
which  it  is  made  up,  and  admitting  only  its  least  im- 
portant element  of  pleasure. 

In  the  third  place,  I  showed  that  Hobbes  has  muti- 
lated even  this  element  of  pleasure,  as  he  before  had 
the  principle  of  self-love,  and  the  whole  phenomenon 
of  volition ;  for  his  system  does  not  take  into  account,  in 
its  estimate,  the  largest  and  most  numerous  sources  of 
happiness  —  the  pleasures  of  sympathy ;  so  that  even 
pleasure  itself,  the  only  element  of  self-love  recognized 
by  Hobbes,  is  falsely  represented ;  for  he  has,  if  I 
may  say  so,  cut  it  in  two,  and  thrown  away  its  better 
portion ;  and  thus  finally  has  settled  the  whole  matter, 
by  considering  this  fragment  of  the  element  of  pleasure 
as  the  universal  and  only  motive  of  all  choice'  and  con- 
duct. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  307 

I  repeat  it ;  never  has  unfaithfulness  to  psychological 
truth  been  pushed  so  far ;  never  was  there  a  system  so 
completely  and  strangely  disfiguring  the  true  image  of 
human  nature.  It  is  nowise  extraordinary,  therefore, 
that  it  leads  to  consequences  so  wholly  untenable,  mon- 
strous, and  contradictory  to  the  universal  faith  and 
common  sense  of  men.  The  consequences  to  which 
this  system  leads,  are  as  absurd  as  its  principles  are 
false ;  and  common  sense  as  instantly  repels  the  one  as 
observation  does  the  other. 

This  might  be  called  a  direct  refutation  of  the  system 
of  Hobbes.  But,  as  you  well  know,  there  are  two 
modes  of  refuting  an  opinion  ;  the  first  is  to  confront 
it  with  the  truth,  and  compare  them  together  ;  the  sec- 
ond is  to  consider  it  by  itself,  and  see  whether  it  is 
throughout  consistent.  Now,  I  should  fail  of  exhibiting 
the  utter  weakness  of  Hobbes's  system,  if  I  omitted  to 
apply  to  it  this  second  mode  of  refutation.;  for,  al- 
though his  mind  was  logical,  he  could  not  avoid  falling 
into  many  contradictions,  when  his  fundamental  princi- 
ple was  so  false.  The  present  lecture  will  be  occupied 
with  an  exhibition  of  the  most  glaring  of  these  contra- 
dictions. 

You  will  remember,  doubtless,  that  Hobbes  has  de- 
monstrated, as  he  thinks,  that  a  state  of  war  is  the  only 
natural  state  among  individuals  brought  in  contact  with 
each  other.  You  will  remember  also,  that,  appreciating 
the  inconveniences  of  this  state  of  things,  he  has  de- 
clared this  state  of  war  to  be  the  worst  that  can  possi- 
bly exist,  and  hence  has  been  led  to  the  assertion,  that 
it  is  for  each  man's  highest  interest  to  accept  of  the 
state  of  peace,  at  whatever  cost,  or  upon  whatever 


308  JOUFFROY. 

conditions,  it  may  be  obtained,  and  thus  has  explained 
the  creation  of  that  social  state,  of  which  peace  is  at 
once  the  end  and  characteristic. 

Now,  this  very  mode  of  explaining  the  foundation  of 
society  necessarily  implies  a  contradiction  ;  and  this  is 
the  first  that  I  shall  exhibit  to  you.  If  calculations  of 
self-interest  could  lead  men  thus  to  substitute  a  state  of 
peace  for  a  state  of  war,  a  state  of  society  for  a  state 
of  nature,  the  very  same  calculations  would  have  pre- 
vented and  rendered  impossible  that  natural  state  of  war. 
For  how  can  it  be  true,  that  man's  natural  slate  is  a 
state  of  war,  if  it  is  in  his  nature  to  see  and  feel  that  this 
is  the  worst  possible  state  for  his  own  interests  1  If  the 
principle  of  self-love  leads  to  the  apprehension  of  this 
truth,  then  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  it  can  produce  the 
state  of  war  which  contradicts  this  truth,  and  not  the 
state  of  peace  which  is  in  harmony  with  it.  Admitting, 
then,  that  man  is  constituted  as  Hobbes  asserts,  his 
state  of  nature,  as  he  calls  it,  is  impossible.  The  same 
reasons  assigned  by  him,  as  sufficient  to  bring  it  to  an 
end,  are  strong  enough  to  have  prevented  its  ever  origi- 
nating :  this  is  the  first  contradiction  to  which  I  would 
call  your  attention. 

A  second  contradiction  Hobbes  is  guilty  of,  when  he 
asserts  that  in  the  state  of  nature  there  are  natural 
rights,  which  give  way,  after  the  formation  of  a  society, 
to  positive  rights.  Hobbes  says,  that  in  the  state  of 
nature  each  man  has  a  right  to  all  things,  and  that  this 
right  is  a  natural  right.  Now,  I  confess,  I  am  aston- 
ished, and  cannot  but  find  fault  with  Hobbes,  that  he 
should  have  introduced  this  word  right  into  a  sys- 
tem which  utterly  abolishes  and  excludes  every  such 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  309 

idea  as  men  have  usually  attached  to  that  word.  To 
satisfy  yourselves  of  this,  gentlemen,  you  have  but  to 
consider  how  different  this  pretended  right  is  from  the 
actual  right,  which  the  universal  sense  of  mankind 
recognizes. 

What  are  the  characteristics  of  this  right  possessed 
by  every  one  over  all  things  —  this  natural  and  primitive 
right,  according  to  Hobbes  ? 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  right  imposing  no  corre- 
sponding duty.  If  I  have  a  right  to  the  possession  of 
all  things,  and  my  neighbor  has  equally  this  right,  it 
follows  that  my  right  imposes  no  restraint  upon  him, 
neither  does  his  right  upon  me  ;  my  right  destroys  his, 
and  his  destroys  mine  ;  there  are  no  reciprocal  duties. 
The  first  characteristic,  then,  of  these  rights,  so  called 
by  Hobbes,  is,  that  they  have  no  corresponding  duties. 

But  further ;  so  far  from  imposing  any  obligation 
upon  others,  this  right  of  mine  is  one  that  every  body 
has  a  perfect  right  to  violate.  So  far  as  I  have  any 
right,  just  so  far  have  others  ;  they  have  a  right,  then, 
to  disregard  my  right.  This  natural  right,  therefore, 
not  only  does  not  impose  duties  upon  any  body,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  every  body  has  a  right  to  violate  it.  Of 
all  rights,  surely  such  a  one  is  the  strangest  that  can 
be  conceived. 

Once  more ;  this  right  is  one  which,  though  possessed 
by  all,  is  recognized  by  none.  For,  since  my  right 
extends  to  every  thing,  and  my  neighbor's  does  the 
same,  I  cannot  but  recognize  this  right  of  his ;  conse- 
quently, I  cannot  feel  that  I  have  the  right  myself. 
What  is  true  of  one  is  true  of  all ;  and  hence  it  seems 


310 


JOUFFROY. 


that  no  one   can  recognize  that  he  himself  has  this 
right,  which,  nevertheless,  each  and  all  possess. 

Thus  it  appears,  then,  that  the  three  characteristics 
of  this  natural  right,  admitted   by  Hobbes,  are,  1.  that 
it  imposes  no   corresponding  duties ;  2.  that  it   is   of 
such  a  nature  that  every  body  has  a  right  to  violate  it ; 
and,  3.  that  no  one  can  recognize  it  as  belonging  to 
himself.     What  a  prodigious  difference  is  there  between 
any  such  meaning  of  the  word  right,  and  its  meaning 
in  common  acceptation  !     The  word  right,  as  used  and 
understood    by  the  best  writers,  and  by  the  common 
sense  of  all   men,  from  the  shepherd,  who  guards  his 
flock,  to  the  legislator,  who  enacts  laws,  implies  some- 
thing which  all  must  recognize  as  sacred,  and  which 
demands  from   all  respect.     If  I  possess  a  right,  I  per- 
fectly comprehend  —  I  and  the  whole  world  with  me  — 
that  you,  and  every  body  else,  are  bound  to  respect  it ; 
that,  by  disregarding  this  right,  you  are  false  to  a  duty, 
and  violate  a  consecrated  thing.     My  right,  then,  im- 
poses  a  duty  upon   all   others ;  no  other   being  has  a 
right   to   violate   it;     and   thus    all    recognize   that   it 
belongs  peculiarly  to  me,   and  not  to  others ;  so  that 
right,  according  to  the  universal  understanding  of  man- 
kind,   has  characteristics   precisely  opposite   to   those 
which  mark  the  pretended  right  of  Hobbes.     Be  not 
astonished,  then,  at  meeting  with  the  word  right  in  a 
system  which   makes    all   right   impossible.     We   may 
reconcile  it  with  all   systems,  and   interweave  it  with 
them,  if  we  will  but  alter  and  destroy  the  very  idea  that 
the  name  of  right  expresses. 

What  I  have  now  said  of  rights,  as  the  word  is  defined 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  311 

and  employed  by  Hobbes,  might  be  said  with  equal 
truth  of  duties.  What,  according  to  him,  are  duties? 
He  recognizes  but  one  class  of  these  —  the  duties  of  the 
subject  to  the  government ;  there  are  no  duties  for 
government ;  duties  are  confined  to  subjects.  And  now, 
I  ask,  what  is  the  nature  of  these  duties  1  And,  suppos- 
ing myself  in  the  position  of  the  subject,  I  find  that,  in 
my  relation  to  government,  two  kinds  of  cases  may 
arise ;  —  first,  those  in  which  it  appears  to  be  for  my 
interest  to  obey ;  and,  second,  those  where  obedience 
seems  to  be  against  my  interest.  Now,  in  the  former 
case,  to  what  motive  does  a  man  yield,  when  he  obeys 
and  respects  state  authority  1  Evidently  to  the  single 
motive  admitted  by  Hobbes,  that  is,  self-interest  well 
understood.  But  what,  then,  shall  the  subject  do  in  the 
second  case,  where  he  finds  obedience  prejudicial  to 
his  interests  ?  Has  not  Hobbes  declared,  that  interest 
is  the  only  possible  motive  of  volition  ;  and  yet  more, 
that  each  is  sole  and  sovereign  judge  of  his  own  inter- 
est, and  that  he  may  not  be  condemned  for  his  judg- 
ment ?  What  becomes,  then,  of  the  duty?  By  what 
motive  shall  the  subject  still  be  led  to  obey  and  respect 
government  ?  There  is  no  such  motive,  if  man  is 
constituted  as  Hobbes  supposes.  If,  then,  he  pretends 
that,  in  such  cases,  the  subject  must  obey,  Hobbes  falls 
into  a  manifest  contradiction  of  his  own  system ;  for,  if 
a  man  can  feel  that  to  be  a  duty  which  is  not  for  his 
interest,  then  must  there  be  some  other  motive  beside 
self-interest,  and  Hobbes's  system  is  false.  But  Hobbes 
will  say,  it  is  always  for  our  interest  to  obey  govern- 
ment, because  the  state  of  war  is  the  worst  of  all  states. 
To  this  I  reply,  that  if  I  see  this  to  be  for  my  interest, 


312  JOUFFROY. 

then  it  is  to  the  motive  of  interest  I  yield  ;  and  duty 
means,  therefore,  only  interest  well  understood  ;  but  if 
I  do  not  see  it  to  be  for  my  interest,  how  shall  I  be  in- 
fluenced by  interest  well  understood,  when  I  do  not 
understand  my  interest  ?  And  if  I  do  not  understand 
it,  what  motive  to  obedience  remains?  What  becomes 
of  Hobbes's  duty  ?  What  signification  has  the  word  1 
Is  it  not  plain  that  Hobbes  must  either  give  up  the 
word,  as  an  unmeaning  one,  or  contradict  his  system 
by  assigning  it  a  meaning  ? 

So  far,  gentlemen,  from  there  being  any  ground  upon 
which,  according  to  Hobbes,  an  individual  may  be 
constrained  to  do  what  is  for  his  interest,  when  he 
does  not  comprehend  that  it  is  so,  the  consequence 
from  his  principle  would  lead  to  the  exactly  opposite 
result  —  that  the  individual  has  a  right  to  violate  such 
duties,  as  it  is  pretended  interest  imposes,  when  he 
does  not  see  that  they  would  advance  his  interest. 
What  is  natural  right,  according  to  Hobbes?  It  is 
precisely  the  right,  possessed  by  each  individual,  of 
seeking  what  he  conceives  to  be  his  highest  good,  in 
just  the  manner  which  he  thinks  best.  Such  is  natural 
right,  in  Hobbes's  system.  If  he  pretends,  then,  to 
impose  upon  the  subject  the  duty  of  obeying  govern- 
ment, when  he  sees  it  to  be  for  his  interest  not  to  obey 
it,  he  is  imposing  a  duty  which  the  subject  has,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  doctrine,  a  perfect  right  to  neglect  and 
violate. 

Now,  what  is  duty,  according  to  the  common  under- 
standing of  mankind,  as  manifested  in  every  language? 
It  is  something  sacred  in  itself,  something  which  we 
are  obliged  to  perform,  and  which  is  acknowledged  and 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  313 

recognized  as  sacred,  not  only  by  the  person  bound 
to  observe  it,  but  by  all  others,  who,  recognizing  it  as 
sacred,  have,  for  that  reason,  a  perfect  right  to  demand 
that  it  shall  be  respected. 

Thus,  when  I  see  that  I  have  a  duty,  I  feel  compelled 
to  discharge  it ;  and  others  feel,  although  my  perform- 
ance of  the  act  may  not  affect  them,  yet  because  they 
comprehend  the  obligations  resting  on  a  man  in  the 
different  situations  of  life,  that  it  is  my  duty,  and  that 
they  have  a  right  to  say,  "Do  this,  or  be  judged  un- 
worthy." Between  this  idea  of  duty,  as  it  exists  in 
universal  human  consciousness,  and  the  idea  of  interest 
well  understood,  which  Hobbes  is  obliged  to  substitute 
for  the  true  meaning  of  the  word,  there  is  a  distinction 
too  wide  to  be  overlooked  —  a  distinction  vquite  as  im- 
portant, as  that  which  separates  the  signification  of  right 
in  his  system  from  its  common  signification  among 
mankind. 

Hobbes  may  use  the  words  right  and  duty,  therefore ; 
but  if  he  employs  them  in  their  general  acceptation,  he 
falls  into  a  monstrous  and  glaring  contradiction.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  and  as  apparently  is  the  case,  he 
attaches  to  them  a  new  and  unwonted  sense,  we  may 
well  inquire  by  what  title  and  authority  does  he  alter 
thus  the  common  meaning  of  words,  and  so  deceive  his 
reader  into  the  idea  that  rights  and  duties  are,  or  can 
be,  recognized  in  such  a  system  as  his  ?  For  one  or 
the  other  of  these  abuses  of  language,  Hobbes  must 
seem  liable  to  condemnation,  in  the  judgment  of  every 
reasonable  man. 

It  is  in  vain,  in  a  system  which  does  not  admit, 
among  the  possible  motives  of  human  volition,  the 

VOL.    I.  B  B 


314  JOUFFROY. 

rational  motive,  to  pretend  to  discover  any  thing  even 
remotely  resembling  a  right  or  a  duty.  The  attempt 
must  always  utterly  fail. 

When  I  yield  to  the  impulse  of  passion,  my  act  has 
no  moral  character  whatever,  and  I  feel  no  right  to 
demand  that  others  should  regard  me  with  respect ;  for 
I  am  not  seeking  to  accomplish  absolute  good,  but 
merely  to  gratify  my  desire.  Again,  when  I  follow 
interest  well  understood,  my  motive  is  still  personal ;  it 
is  not  for  absolute  good,  but  for  private  good,  that  I  act, 
and  I  feel  that  there  is  nothing  which  gives  my  conduct 
a  claim  to  respect  in  my  own  or  others'  eyes;  my  happi- 
ness is  agreeable  and  pleasing  in  prospect,  but  I  am 
aware  that  it  imposes  no  duties,  and  secures  me  no 
rights.  If  men  recognized  no  other  motives  than  these 
two  of  impulse  and  interest,  then  the  ideas  of  rights 
and  duties  would  not  exist.  Whence  come  these  ideas  ? 
On  what  condition  can  they  originate?  On  one  con- 
dition only,  and  that  is,  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
absolute  good  —  something  good,  not  from  the  benefit  it 
brings  to  one  or  to  every  individual  of  our  race,  but 
from  the  eternal  nature  of  things.  On  this  condition, 
rights  and  duties  become  possible  ;  because,  whenever 
an  act  to  be  performed  appears  to  have  this  character 
of  absolute  good,  at  once  I  feel  myself  obliged  to  do  it; 
and,  feeling  this  obligation,  I  am  conscious  of  my  right 
to  act  without  hinderance ;  because,  since  every  other 
person  may  see,  as  I  do,  that  it  is  absolutely  good,  and 
feel,  as  I  do,  that  I  am  bound  to  perform  it,  he  must  be 
conscious  of  an  obligation  on  his  part  not  to  prevent 
me  in  its  execution,  but  to  remind  me  of  my  responsi- 
bility, and  even  to  demand  that  I  should  discharge  my 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  315 

duty,  if  he  suffers  from  my  neglect.  Thus  all  rights 
and  duties  are  naturally  derived  from  the  rational  mo- 
tive. Suppress  this  motive,  and  duties  and  rights  be- 
come impossible ;  the  words  themselves  have  no  mean- 
ing, and  are  of  no  further  use  in  human  speech.  Under 
whatever  disguise  or  mask,  then,  the  selfish  or  the 
impulsive  systems  may  present  themselves,  they  can 
never  properly  introduce  the  true  ideas  of  duty  or  of 
right. 

We  may  well  suppose  that  Hobbes  was  sensible  of 
the  unfitness  of  his  system,  as  a  foundation  for  social 
rights  and  duties,  and  that  his  wish  to  supply  this  defi- 
ciency led  to  his  hypothesis  of  a  contract  upon  which 
society  is  based.  If  this  was  his  idea,  he  was  guilty  of 
a  great  error ;  for  a  contract  presupposes  the  moral 
motive,  and  in  his  system  is  just  as  impossible  as  rights 
and  duties. 

Men,  says  Hobbes,  feeling  war  to  be  the  worst  pos- 
sible state  of  existence,  united  together ;  and,  desiring 
at  any  cost  to  substitute  peace,  they  agreed  to  establish 
a  power  sufficiently  strong  to  subdue  individuals,  with 
the  especial  object  of  restraining  them,  and  compelling 
them  to  live  in  harmony.  Such,  according  to  Hobbes, 
was  the  origin  of  many  communities,  and  such  the 
foundation  of  the  laws  by  which  they  are  governed. 

Let  us  adopt  the  hypothesis,  gentlemen,  and  then  ask 
what  is  the  meaning  of  such  a  contract,  and  what  is  its 
authority  over  the  individuals  who  enter  into  it. 

Let  us  take,  then,  two  men,  constituted  as  Hobbes 
supposes  all  men  to  be ;  and  now  what  will  be  a  con- 
tract to  them,  and  how  far  will  they  feel  themselves 
bound  by  it  ?  They  have  entered  into  certain  engage- 


316  JOUFFROV, 

ments,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  their  highest  inter- 
ests ;  how  far,  now,  may  they  depend  upon  each  other's 
respect  for  these  engagements  ?  If  each  supposes  that 
the  other  will  be  governed  by  the  agreement,  only  in  so 
far  as  he  sees  his  own  interests  are  promoted  by  it, 
then,  I  say,  the  contract  is  useless ;  for,  before  it  was 
formed,  each  might  have  expected  from  the  other  quite 
as  much.  If,  on  the  contrary,  either  anticipated  that 
the  person  with  whom  he  enters  into  the  contract  will 
observe  its  provisions,  even  where  interest  impels  him 
to  disregard  them,  then,  I  ask,  on  what  ground  does  he 
rest  such  a  hope  ?  By  what  reasoning  can  a  man,  con- 
stituted as  Hobbes  asserts  that  we  all  are,  feel  himself 
bound  to  respect  an  engagement  which  is  inferior  to 
his  interests  ?  On  the  contrary,  would  he  not,  in  such 
a  case,  have  a  most  manifest  and  undeniable  right  to 
violate  it?  His  promise  restrains  him,  says  Hobbes. 
Ay !  it  would  restrain  men  made  as  we  are,  but  not 
such  as  Hobbes  describes.  For  why  is  a  promise  bind- 
ing ?  Because,  and  only  because,  reason  declares  it  to 
be  so,  and  tells  us  plainly  that  it  cannot  be  broken 
without  falsehood  and  infamy.  Once  admit  that  there 
is  no  good  which  is  absolute,  and  independent  of  per- 
sonal interest,  and  a  promise  is  an  empty  word.  Now, 
a  promise  is  the  very  foundation  of  a  contract,  and  con- 
stitutes its  strength.  A  contract,  then,  between  two  such 
beings  as  Hobbes  supposes  men  to  be,  would  be  unmean- 
ing ;  for  to  agree  to  do  a  thing,  with  the  reservation  that 
we  need  not  do  it,  if  we  think  best,  is  not  to  make  a 
contract,  but  a  mere  mockery ;  and  if  this  were  the 
only  kind  of  engagement  possible  among  men,  the 
word  contract  would  not  be  found  in  any  language.  If 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  317 

Hobbes  pretends,  then,  to  establish  social  rights  and 
duties  upon  a  primitive  contract,  in  which  society 
originates,  he  has  deceived  himself;  for  contracts 
presuppose  duties,  and  a  system  excluding  duties,  d 
fortiori,  excludes  contracts.  But  it  is  much  to  be 
doubted  whether  Hobbes  had  any  such  intention,  as  we 
have  here  supposed.  His  whole  system  proves  how 
little  confidence  he  felt  in  the  obligation  of  any  con- 
tracts, and  how  low  he  estimated  them.  He  admitted 
two  possible  modes  in  which  society  might  originate ;  — 
first,  the  consent  of  the  individuals  combining  to  estab- 
lish it,  or,  in  other  words,  a  contract ;  and,  secondly,  the 
violent  enslavement  of  individuals  by  one  or  many,  that 
is  to  say,  the  right  of  the  strongest.  And  he  goes 
further  ;  he  considers  one  form  of  society  as  legitimate 
as  the  other,  and  asserts  that  one  imposes  equal  duties 
upon  the  subject  with  the  other.  He  had  so  little  faith 
in  the  obligation  of  a  contract  that  he  trusted  wholly  in 
force  to  maintain  it.  And  finally,  according  to  Hobbes, 
government  has  a  perfect  right  to  disregard  the  contract 
in  which  it  originated  ;  it  is  equally  guiltless,  whether 
it  observes  or  violates  it.  Whether  it  is  founded  upon 
contract  or  force,  whether  it  benefits  or  injures  its 
subjects,  their  duty  remains  still  the  same.  Govern- 
ment may  do  wrong  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  may 
act  in  opposition  to  its  own  true  good,  but  it  still 
deserves  the  respect  and  the  obedience  of  the  subject. 
If  Hobbes  seriously  intended,  then,  to  establish  social 
duties  upon  contract,  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  make 
his  readers  disbelieve  him. 

Thus  you  see,  gentlemen,  that  the  word  contract,  in 
the  system  of  this  philosopher,  is  as  unmeaning  as  the 

B  B2 


318  JOUFFROY. 

words  duties  and  rights.  And  we  might  say  the  same 
of  the  word  society ;  for  what  is  society  but  a  visionary 
and  impracticable  thing,  if  men  are  really  such  beings 
as  Hobbes  pretends  ?  Society,  as  Hobbe.s  describes  it, 
is  not  a.  society,  but  a  mere  constrained  juxtaposition 
of  individuals ;  its  members  do  not  obey  ;  they  yield ; 
they  are  not  governed  by  authority,  but  by  force ;  the 
laws  which  restrain  them  are  chains ;  and,  in  a  word, 
all  expressions  descriptive  of  the  grand  relations  origi- 
nating ii»  the  social  state,  lose  their  proper  meaning, 
and  assume  a  false  one,  when  applied  to  such  commu- 
nities as  Hobbes,  in  conformity  with  his  system,  ima- 
gines to  exist.  And  the  reason  for  this  is  plain  ;  a  true 
society  necessarily  implies  true  rights  and  duties,  true 
contracts  and  promises,  a  true  obedience  and  authority, 
true  laws,  —  each  and  all  of  which  are  impossible,  if 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  good.  Every  system 
which  suppresses  and  denies  the  moral  motive,  is 
forced,  then,  to  mutilate  at  once  the  complex  idea  of 
society,  and  every  elementary  idea  which  this  pre- 
supposes and  includes. 

Is  this  saying  that  individual  interest  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  formation  of  society  ?  By  no  means.  If  a 
philosopher  should  profess  such  an  opinion,  he  would 
be  obliged  to  maintain,  first,  that  the  moral  motive  is 
the  only  motive  of  human  volitions,  and  that  the  selfish 
motive  neither  exists  nor  exercises  any  control  over  our 
actions;  he  would  be  obliged,  in  other  words,  in  adopt- 
ing such  an  idea  of  society  and  its  constituent  laws,  to 
form  as  false,  though  an  entirely  opposite  conception  of 
a  human  being  as  Hobbes  has  done.  The  image  of  man 
must  resemble  the  reality  in  the  principles  of  a  system,  if 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  HOBBES.  319 

we  would  have  its  practical  results  correspond  to  what 
we  actually  see  in  human  society.  When  we  recognize 
and  admit  all  the  elements  of  man's  nature,  his  con- 
duct and  experience  are  easily  explained,  and  especially 
that  wonderful  phenomenon  which  we  call  society. 
The  communities  of  beavers  are  explicable  by  the 
nature  of  beavers,  and  human  communities  are  to  be 
accounted  for  by  the  principles  of  human  nature.  To 
form  an  accurate  idea,  therefore,  of  the  origin  and 
formation  of  human  society,  we  must  set-out  from 
a  correct  idea  of  human  nature;  here  only  can  we 
find  true  light  to  guide  us  —  all  else  is  hypothesis  and 
contradiction. 

I  acknowledge  at  once  that  interest  has  much  to  do 
with  the  first  formation  of  society,  and  with  the  whole 
of  legislation  ;  and  it  would  be  very  absurd  to  deny 
it.  But  to  pretend,  on  the  other  hand,  with  Hobbes 
and  Bentham,  that  interest,  and  interest  alone,  is  the 
cause  of  the  foundation,  organization,  and  main- 
tenance of  society,  —  to  assert  that  this  principle 
of  our  nature  is  the  sole  end  of  all  law  and  right, — 
is  openly  to  contradict  real  facts  and  universal  common 
sense.  When  we  come  to  the  discussion  of  the 
science  of  jurisprudence,  I  will  point  out  to  you 
the  respective  influence  of  the  principle  of  utility, 
and  of  the  moral  principle,  in  the  work  of  legislation, 
and  will  enable  you  distinctly  to  apprehend  the 
peculiar  function  of  each.  I  limit  myself,  now,  to 
the  simple  statement  of  the  fact  that  both  of  these 
principles  concur  in  the  production  of  all  systems 
of  legislation,  and  that  he,  therefore,  who  attempts 
to  explain  the  existence  of  society  by  the  operation 


320 


JOUFFROY. 


of  one  of  these  principles  only,  must  necessarily 
find  much  that  he  cannot  explain,  and  much  that 
he  will  mutilate  and  deform. 

It  will  not  be  unprofitable  for  us  to  reflect,  in 
conclusion,  upon  the  circumstances  which  led  Hobbes 
to  this  system  which  he  so  boldly  maintained,  which 
Bentham,  in  our  time,  has  reproduced,  and  which 
will  reappear,  again  and  again,  in  every  important 
era  of  the  history  of  philosophy,  because  fully  ex- 
pressing ^ne  of  the  solutions  —  although  a  partial  and 
narrow  one  —  of  the  grand  moral  problem. 

Hobbes  lived  at  the  time  of  the  English  revolution. 
Chance,  and  perhaps  also  the  bias  of  his  character, 
threw  him  into  connection  with  the  party  in  favor 
of  absolute  power ;  that  is  to  say,  the  party  of  the 
Stuarts.  The  sight  of  the  revolution  and  of  its  ex- 
cesses could  not  but  have  the  effect  of  confirming  him 
in  his  principles  and  his  attachments.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  society  was  dissolved,  because  it  was  in  a  state 
of  revolution  ;  and  he  thought  he  saw  the  true  cause 
of  its  ruin  in  the  overturn  of  established  authority. 
He  was  led,  therefore,  to  tire  conclusion,  that  societies 
can  exist,  and  men  live  in  peace,  only  where  power 
is  extremely  strong,  or,  in  other  words,  absolute ;  and 
he  could  not  conceive  that  order  was  possible  upon 
any  other  condition.  This  idea  was,  without  doubt, 
the  moving  spring  of  Hobbes's  philosophy ;  and  it 
was  under  its  influence  that  he  examined  the  laws 
of  human  nature,  and  of  the  origin  of  societies. 
Hobbes  was  not  a  remarkable  psychologist ;  he  was 
.->  a  logician  ;  and  nothing  are  more  opposed  to  each 
other  than  logic  and  observation.)  In  his  day,  psy- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  321 

chology  was  in  its  cradle ;  philosophers  scarcely 
regarded  it  at  all ;  and  yet  it  is  impossible  to  answer 
questions  relative  to  human  nature,  if  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  laws  of  that  nature. 

Hobbes,  preoccupied  as  his  mind  was  with  favorite 
ideas,  and  passions,  and  interests,  found  in  man  just 
what  he  desired  to  find,  and  wholly  overlooked  what- 
ever contradicted  his  conclusions.  I  do  not  condemn 
him  on  this  account.  It  was  a  most  natural  thing 
for  him  to  do.  But  thus  it  was,  that  he  was  led 
to  the  adoption  of  the  strange  system  which  I  have 
described,  repugnant  as  it  is  to  all  the  facts  of  our 
nature,  and  to  all  the  notions  of  common  sense. 
Others  professed  similar  ideas  at  the  same  time ;  but 
no  one  manifested,  in  the  expression  of  them,  equal 
vigor  and  intellectual  superiority.  Among  such  writers 
were  two  of  eminence,  both  natives  of  France.  The 
first  was  Larochefoucauld,  the  author  of  the  Maximes. 
It  would  be  unjust,  I  think,  to  consider  the  author 
of  the  Maximes  chargeable  with  all  the  extravagances 
of  Hobbes.  The  only  object  of  this  intelligent  man 
and  admirable  writer  was  to  show,  that  there  are  but 
few  actions  —  even  among  those  apparently  the  most 
disinterested  and  virtuous  —  which  might  not  be  dic- 
tated by  a  selfish  motive.  Between  such  a  view  as 
this,  and  the  view  that  every  human  action  is  abso- 
lutely inspired  by  selfishness,  there  is  a  very  wide 
distinction.  It  was  the  aim  of  Larochefoucauld  to 
unmask,  in  every  possible  way,  hypocrisy  of  conduct, 
and  to  examine  strictly  the  motives  in  which  acts 
originated,  before  pronouncing  them  virtuous :  he 
made  war  upon  appearances,  and  was  inclined,  per- 


322  JOUFFROY. 

haps,  to  attribute  too  much  influence  to  selfishness 
in  the  determinations  of  human  choice.  Thus  far 
Larochefoucauld  did  undoubtedly  go;  but  this  is  all 
that  is  taught  or  necessarily  implied  in  his  Maximes, 
and  I  do  not  think  we  can  justly  attribute  to  him  a 
deeper  meaning. 

The  second  philosopher  referred  to,  of  whom  it  is 
unnecessary  to  say  much,  was  Helvetius ;  in  whose 
book,  entitled  De  L'Esprit,  we  find  all  the  ethical 
maxims  of  Hobbes  clearly  and  positively  announced. 
Helvetius  did  not  hesitate  at  all  to  declare,  that  man's 
only  motive  for  choice  is  the  pursuit  of  pleasure 
and  the  dread  of  pain ;  and  he  boldly  deduced  the 
consequences  of  his  principle.  Helvetius  was  the 
child  of  Condillac  ;  the  morality  of  the  former  sprung 
from  the  metaphysics  of  the  latter.  And,  indeed, 
if  we  once  admit  that  sensation  is  the  germ  of  all 
knowledge,  we  can  scarcely  avoid  the  conclusion  that 
agreeable  sensations  are  the  germ  of  all  good.  The 
doctrine  is  in  both  cases  precisely  the  same ;  it  is 
only  transferred  from  the  intellect  to  the  will. 

Like  many  other  authors  of  bad  systems,  Helvetius 
was  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world  ;  and  his  object 
in  writing  his  book  was  much  more  to  exhibit  talent 
than  to  establish  truth ;  and  in  this  he  certainly  suc- 
ceeded. No  doctrine  could  offer  a  better  opportunity 
for  that  skilful  introduction  of  brilliant  expression 
and  piquant  anecdote,  which  renders  the  book  DC 
I? Esprit  at  orjce  so  entertaining,  yet  so  full  of  melan- 
choly suggestions. 

Few  philosophers  have  been  of  greater  service  than 
Hobbes.  Many  writers,  who  have  given  a  mutilated 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  323 

and  imperfect  representation  of  human  nature,  have 
so  wrapped  it  up  and  veiled  it  by  want  of  precision 
of  thought  and  expression,  that  it  is  difficult  to  dis- 
cover what  errors  they  have  made ;  and,  as  to  the 
consequences  of  their  principles,  sometimes  they  do 
not  perceive  them  themselves,  or,  if  perceiving  them, 
they  do  not  dare  to  push  them  to  extreme  results.  Not 
so  with  Hobbes.  He  folds  his  system  in  no  orna- 
mental drapery ;  his  style  is  perfectly  simple,  clear, 
and  dry ;  he  never  employs  an  unnecessary  word  in 
expressing  his  thought ;  and  there  is  no  possibility 
of  misunderstanding  either  the  meaning  of  his  lan- 
guage or  the  scope  of  his  arguments.  But  this  is 
not  his  only  merit.  After  distinctly  exhibiting  his 
principle,  he  unhesitatingly  deduces  from  it  all  its 
consequences ;  he  fears  not  to  admit  and  to  maintain 
all  that  necessarily  results  from  it,  destructive  though 
it  may  seem  to  morality,  freedom,  and  society.  In 
reading  Hobbes,  we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge 
the  justice  of  his  conclusions,  and  to  grant  that  we 
must  either  adopt  them  or  reject  his  principle  alto- 
gether. Now,  this,1  gentlemen,  is  rendering  a  great 
service  to  the  cause  of  science.  It  is  only  when  a 
partial  and  imperfect  system  is  exhibited  with  clearness 
and  boldness,  that  we  can  hope  to  expose  and  refute  it. 
So  long  as  a  system  is  enveloped  in  mystification,  it 
may  be  tolerated,  however  detestable  its  character; 
but  the  instant  when  its  revolting  consequences  are 
laid  bare,  we  are  constrained  to  inquire  whether 
or  not  it  is  founded  on  truth.  This  is  exactly  what 
occurred  with  regard  to  the  system  of  selfishness. 
Hobbes's  exposition  brought  out  so  broadly  all  its 


324  JOUFFROY. 

consequences,  that  the  philosophers  of  his  time  were 
led  to  scrutinize  severely  his  principle ;  and  they  were 
not  long  in  discovering  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  muti- 
lating and  deforming  human  nature;  and  hence  arose 
that  deep  study  of  psychology  which  has,  in  our  day, 
brought  so  clearly  to  view  the  true  elements  of  our 
moral  being.  And  thus  to  Hobbes's  exertions  we 
are  indebted  for  a  distinctness  and  completeness  in 
the  sciences  of  politics,  ethics,  and  psychology,  which, 
but  for  his  writings,  we  might  long  have  wanted. 


END    OF   VOL.    I. 


